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MY  BALKAN  LOG 


MY  BALKAN  LOG 


BY 

J.   JOHNSTON   ABRAHAM 

Author  of 

"  The  Surgeon's  Log," 

"  The  Night  Nurse,"  etc. 


WITH  NUMEROUS  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 

C81  FIFTH  AVENUE 
1922 


To 

My  Comrades 

IN  Serbia 

1914-15. 


PRINTED  IN  OUBAT  BRITAIN  BY 
TUB   DUNEDIN    PRESS   LIMITED,    EDINBDRQH 


r> 


CONTENTS 


D 


■Q^ 


CHAFTKR 

PAGE 

I. 

GETTING  THERE       .... 

1 

II. 

SKOPLJE 

.       21 

III. 

COMMENCING  WORK 

.       44 

IV. 

SETTLING  DOWN     .... 

.       70 

V. 

WAR   SURGERY        .... 

.       84 

VI. 

CARRYING   ON          ...           . 

.     115 

VII. 

CHRISTMASTIDE       .... 

.     145 

VIII. 

GATHERING  SHADOWS      . 

.     170 

IX. 

THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN 

.     194 

X. 

THE  BLACK  DEATH  .... 

.     243 

XI. 

THE  END 

.     273 

EPILOGUE 

.     303 

345648 


CHAPTER  I 
GETTING  THERE 

Athens  and  the  curious  behaviour  of  the  Hun — The  American 
'  drummer  '  and  what  he  really  wanted — "  Our  Mr  Brown  " — 
Salonika  and  Charlie  the  dragoman — Introducing  Steve — 
Subsidized  War  News — Greek  soldiers — The  Via  Egnatia,  the 
Muezzin,  and  a  vision  of  the  centuries — The  man  from  "  The 
Adelphi." 

WE  were  a  very  happy  family — French,  British, 
Belgian — on  the  tubby  little  Messageries 
Maratimes  boat,  until  we  reached  the  Piraeus. 
It  was  October  1914,  and  the  bond  of  a  common  danger, 
common  hope  drew  us  together  in  a  wonderful  mutual 
understanding.  In  the  mornings  we,  the  British,  did 
'  physical  jerks  '  on  the  well-deck,  watched  by  the 
passengers  from  the  promenade  above ;  in  the  afternoons 
our  men  were  lectured  on  their  duties  to  the  sick  and 
wounded;  in  the  evenings,  under  the  Mediterranean 
stars,  everyone  sang  patriotic  songs,  the  Marseillaise, 
God  save  the  King,  and  Tipperary — always  Tipperary. 
At  all  hours  everyone  talked  to  everyone  else,  the 
barrier  of  language  acting  rather  as  a  stimulus  to  effort. 
It  was  a  marvellously  glowing  time,  you  will  remember, 
October  1914,  a  time  of  tense  emotion,  intoxicating, 
fervorous,  star-gazing.    How  far  away  it  all  seems  now. 

We  were  happy,  as  I  have  said,  until  we  reached  the 
Piraeus  and  the  family  began  to  break  up.  There  also, 
for  the  first  time,  we  began  to  come  in  contact  with 
people  who  were  critical,  unsympathetic,  even  hostile 
to  our  common  cause,  people  who  looked  at  us  and 
judged,  from  the  outside. 

I  had  my  first  experience  of  it  coming  down  from  the 

A  1 


2  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Acropolis,  saturated  with  the  calm  white  sculptured 
loveliness  of  the  Parthenon,  feeling  that  every  moment 
was  an  almost  too  perfect  realisation  of  anticipated  joy. 
It  was  particularly  inappropriate,  at  that  moment,  that 
my  path  should  have  crossed  that  of  a  tweed-clad  fellow, 
the  back  of  whose  close-cropped  head  seemed  to  melt 
into  a  red  roll  of  fat  behind  his  ears.  He  glared  at  my 
uniform,  stepped  sideways,  and  spat  on  the  ground — an 
act  which  seemed  to  me  unpleasantly  unnecessary.  I 
stopped  deliberately  and  told  him  what  I  thought  of 
him,  adding  as  a  Parthian  shot  some  entirely  imaginary 
aspersions  on  his  family  connections.  Of  course  he  did 
not  understand  a  word.  I  knew  that,  but  the  fact  did 
not  in  the  least  detract  from  my  malicious  joy.  We 
parted,  perfectly  absurdly,  in  mutual  gesticulation, 
both  roseate  with  patriotism.  Then  I  made  my  way  to 
the  ship  as  a  haven,  only  to  find  the  happy  family  feel- 
ing was  no  more.  We  had  filled  up  with  Greeks, 
Bulgars,  Roumanians,  Jews,  nondescript  Levantines 
bound  for  Salonika,  and,  last  but  not  least,  had  taken 
on  an  American  '  drummer,'  who  said  he  was  travelling, 
via  Dedeagatch,  through  to  Constantinople. 

There  was  no  avoiding  the  drummer.  He  was  a 
large,  rubicund  person,  full  of  effusive  bonhomie.  No 
group  was  sacred  to  him.  That  night  we  found  him  at 
our  table,  and  he  monopolised  the  conversation  at 
dinner,  talking  with  a  mixture  of  shrewdness  and  senti- 
mentality, rather  over-characteristically  American, 
giving  us  intimate  details  of  his  own  life,  birthplace, 
income,  etc.,  and  apparently  expecting  us  to  do  the 
same. 

Very  soon  he  learnt  all  there  was  to  tell :  that  there 
were  six  of  us,  doctors,  each  with  two  orderlies ;  and 
that  we  were  joining  the  Serbian  Army.  That  set  him 
off  in  an  ecstacy  of  admiration  for  our  courage  and 
unselfishness,  which  naturally  made  us  all  feel  very 
embarrassed,  for  though  one  may  think  oneself  no  end 
of  a  fellow  in  one's  heart,  yet  no  one  cares  to  have  it 


GETTING  THERE  8 

shouted  at  one  by  a  stranger  amongst  other  strangers. 
So,  to  avoid  him,  the  little  group  of  British  doctors  went 
up  on  deck  immediately  after  dinner. 

But  we  had  reckoned  without  the  pertinacity  of  the 
drummer.  Presently  he  followed  us,  carrying  a 
fountain-pen  and  a  writing  pad,  producing  from  one  of 
his  pockets  a  small  silk  American  flag  on  which  he 
asked  us  to  write  our  names.  None  of  us  wished  to 
deface  the  flag  of  his  country  with  our  quite  incon- 
spicuous names ;  but  he  would  take  no  denial.  And  so 
he  had  his  wish. 

While  we  were  all  signing,  he  expatiated.  The  great 
heart  of  the  American  nation,  it  seemed,  was  with  us  in 
this  struggle  against  Teutonic  military  despotism.  We, 
the  blushing  group  signing  our  names,  were  going  to  do 
noble  work  against  tremendous  odds.  It  was  likely 
that  some  or  all  of  us  would  never  come  back.  But, 
whether  we  did  or  not,  we  would  write  our  names  on  the 
roll  of  fame ;  and  it  was  proud  he  was  to  have  our 
personal  record  on  the  flag  of  his  country.  While  he 
talked  we  all  became  more  and  more  uncomfortably 
shy.  McLaren,  the  Canadian-Scotsman,  our  "  Chief," 
got  up  hurriedly  from  his  chair,  moved  fretfully  to  the 
side  of  the  ship,  looked  over  the  rail  at  the  dark 
unbroken  horizon,  and  said  : — 

"  We  ought  to  be  in  Salonika  to-night  by  time-table. 
We're  two  days  late  already." 

His  movement  broke  up  the  group,  and  we  followed 
him  to  the  rail.  The  drummer  laughed,  somewhat 
sarcastically. 

"  You're  in  the  Orient  now.  Doc.  Time  doesn't 
count  here.  You'll  find  the  Serb  has  one  word  for 
everything,  and  that's  '  Sootra  ' — to-morrow.  When  it 
comes  to  pro-crast-in-ation  he's  some  bird" 

With  that  he  left  us,  his  object  accomplished ;  and 
presently  we  heard  his  voice  booming  in  the  saloon, 
talking  to  some  Smyrna  Greeks.  At  the  time  we 
thought  Kim  a  flamboyant  ass.     We  knew  no  tiling  then 


4  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

of  the  hyphenated- American,  and  the  elaborate  German 
secret  service  agency  worked  from  Athens.  How  he 
must  have  laughed  at  us  when  he  forwarded  an  actual 
autograph  record  of  our  names  to  his  head  office.  It 
was  an  exquisite  bit  of  fooling,  and  had  we  not  been 
what  we  were,  merely  doctors,  most  valuable 
information. 

What  pleases  me  now  in  the  retrospect  is  that 
all  unwittingly,  we  focussed  the  attention  of  the 
'  drummer  '  upon  ourselves  to  the  total  exclusion  of 
"  our  Mr  Brown,"  a  dapper  little  man  travelling  in 
Manchester  goods,  who  came  aboard  at  Malta,  and  first 
raised  my  suspicions  by  always  keeping  in  step  with  me 
when  we  promenaded  together  on  deck.  No  matter 
how  I  broke,  stopped,  shortened,  lengthened,  changed, 
"  our  Mr  Brown  "  always  kept  in  step  automatically, 
right  to  right,  left  to  left.  I  knew  the  trained  man  by 
that;  the  drummer  didn't;  and  so  "  our  Mr  Brown," 
the  torpedo  expert,  got  up  to  Belgrade  unsuspected, 
and  proved  himself  a  terrific  nuisance  to  the  Austrian 
Monitors  on  the  Danube  for  many  months  to  come. 


But  to  resume.  After  the  departure  of  the 
'  drummer  '  below,  we  found  the  decks  nearly  deserted. 
It  was  a  beautiful  night  of  stars  with  a  lumpy  sea  of 
molten  lead  around  us.  A  chill  wind  blew  on  the  star- 
board quarter  from  the  island-dotted  .Egean,  making 
us  turn  up  the  flaps  of  our  military  great-coats  around 
our  ears.  Far  out  to  port  the  dark  serrated  outline  of 
the  Euboean  coast  loomed  faintly  continuous  as  we 
steamed  steadily  onwards  in  the  night. 

Except  for  our  small  group,  the  deck  was  deserted, 
the  warmth-loving  Levantines  having  betaken  them- 
selves below  to  their  cabins,  or  the  insufferably  stuffy 
saloon  where  every  porthole  was  kept  religiously 
screwed  up  throughout  the  voyage. 


GETTING  THERE  5 

The  placid  little  '  Commandant,'  very  fat  and  rosy, 
had  disappeared  from  the  bridge;  and  his  incredibly 
voluble,  gesticulating,  tall,  thin  '  premiere  capitaine  ' 
had  taken  his  activities  elsewhere.  Even  our  English 
orderlies  were  nowhere  to  be  seen,  though  the  strain  of 
choruses,  somewhere  aft,  indicated  their  whereabouts. 
We  had  the  ship  to  ourselves,  until  gradually  the  cold 
and  the  increasing  night  drove  us  also  below. 

Barclay  and  I  shared  what  was  left  of  a  cabin  after 
our  kit-bags  and  accoutrements  had  been  stowed. 
Affinity  is  a  curious  thing.  We  had  met  as  strangers  in 
a  room  in  London  a  few  weeks  previously,  and  decided 
at  once  we  should  be  friends.  We  had  kept  together  on 
the  troopship  to  Malta,  wandered  round  there  in  the 
yellow  sunshine,  grown  to  like  each  other  better  daily, 
and  had  now,  in  the  near  unknown  coming  to  us,  firmly 
decided  to  take  whatever  fortune  offered  us,  still 
together.  Lying  comfortably  smoking  in  our  warm 
bunks,  with  the  choppy  waves  of  the  iEgean  swishing 
alongside,  we  naturally  fell  into  desultory  talk.  Neither 
of  us  had  faced  war  before ;  and  it  was  difficult  to  tune 
our  thoughts  to  the  fact  that  the  broad  sweep  of  Europe 
from  Brest  to  Constantinople  was  one  long  bristling 
battlefield ;  and  that  soon  we  would  be  in  the  thick  of 
it,  patching  torn  bodies  rent  by  the  teeth  of  war,  piti- 
fully doing  our  little  best  to  repair  what  the  wrath  of 
man  had  done. 

"  It  looks  to  me,"  I  said,  "  as  if  we  were  in  for  a 
devilish  thick  time.  The  news  at  Athens  was  that  the 
Serbs  were  being  driven  back,  and  the  Austrians  would 
be  in  Nish  before  we  got  there." 

Barclay  flicked  the  end  from  his  cigarette. 

"  I  think  McLaren,  our  '  Chief,'  hasn't  quite  grasped 
it,"  he  said.  "  He  talks  of  what  we  will  do,  and  what 
we  won't  do  at  Nish,  as  if  we  were  likely  to  be  able  to 
choose.  It  seems  to  me  we  shall  be  dumped  right  into 
it  without  choice,  as  soon  as  we  get  there.  It  must  be  a 
horrible  business  to  be  behind  a  beaten  army,  with  the 


6  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

wounded  always  being  pushed  back  on  you,  and  you 
always  moving  back  trying  to  evacuate  them  amongst 
the  ruck  of  retreating  troops." 

"  If  all's  true  we  have  been  hearing,  the  need  for  us 
must  be  appalling.  I  expect  you're  right.  But  I've 
given  up  trying  to  arrange  the  future,"  I  said.  "  Make 
a  working  plan  for  the  comfort  of  your  soul,  but  let  it 
be  elastic,  is  a  good  rule.  If  it  won't  work,  when  you 
are  faced  with  facts,  scrap  it  altogether,  and  start 
afresh." 

"  Yes,"  said  Barclay  sleepily. 

In  the  morning  we  woke  to  a  sunlit  dimpling  sea.  We 
were  in  the  Gulf  of  Salonika.  Land  lay  on  either  side 
and  ahead  of  us.  To  starboard  were  the  blue  hills  of 
the  Calcidice,  to  port  the  mountains  of  Macedonia,  with 
the  great  peak  of  high  Olympus,  sacred  to  Zeus  the 
Thunderer,  dazzling  white,  immaculate,  dominating  all. 
It  was  not  to  these,  however,  storied  though  they  be, 
that  all  eyes  were  turned,  but  directly  ahead.  Salonika 
was  in  sight,  and  it  represented  not  only  the  end  of  a 
voyage,  but  also  the  beginning  of  a  new  life,  with  all  the 
unexpected  possibilities  involved,  awaiting  us. 

Seen  at  a  distance,  in  the  early  morning  light,  the 
city  appeared  as  an  irregular  quadrilateral  mosaic  of 
black  and  white  and  terra-cotta,  with  curious  long 
needle-like  streaks  of  white  amid  the  reds  and  blacks. 
As  we  drew  nearer  the  mosaic  resolved  itself  into  square 
white  houses  with  red  tiled  roofs,  bowered  in  gardens 
dark  with  cypresses  and  mulberry  trees ;  and  the  curious 
white  streaks  became  the  slender  minarets  of  the  many 
domed  mosques,  scattered  irregularly  over  the  city, 
which  lay  four  square  within  its  battlemented  encircling 
walls,  rising  from  the  water's  edge  precipitously  to  the 
Calamerian  hills  behind. 

Gradually  as  we  drew  nearer,  the  masts  of  many 
feluccas,  sterns  close-hauled  against  the  low  stone  sea- 
front,  appeared ;  whilst  nearer  us,  anchored  inside  the 


GETTING  THERE  7 

protecting  arms  of  the  breakwater,  were  steamships 
flying  the  flags  of  every  European  country  except 
Germany  and  Austria,  an  indication  of  the  unseen  power 
of  our  navy  which  we  were  quick  to  note. 

The  sea-front  itself  extended  for  over  a  mile  from 
west  to  east,  ending  in  a  striking  white  battlemented 
round  tower,  which,  from  the  nameless  cruelties  perpe- 
trated within  its  walls  in  the  past,  bore  the  grim  title 
of  "  The  Tower  of  Blood."  All  along  this  front  were 
the  palatial  facades  of  hotels,  restaurants,  banks  and 
other  public  buildings,  past  which  electric  trams  ran  to 
and  fro,  producing  in  our  minds  a  curious  confusion  of 
thought,  such  as  we  had  already  experienced  when  we 
found  we  could  travel  from  the  Piraeus  to  Athens  by  a 
similar  ultra-modern  method  of  locomotion.  Somehow 
this  made  it  difficult  for  us  to  realise  that  we  were 
gazing  on  the  ancient  Thessalonika  of  the  Greeks,  the 
scene  of  the  early  missionary  efforts  of  St  Paul,  the  siege 
torn  city  held  in  turn  by  the  Romans,  Byzantines, 
Saracens,  Normans,  Venetians,  captured  by  the  Turks 
as  long  ago  as  1430  a.d.,  and  torn  from  their  hands  by 
the  victorious  Greeks,  after  almost  five  centuries  of 
occupation,  only  eighteen  months  before  our  arrival. 

As  it  happened  I  was  orderly  officer  for  the  day,  and 
to  me  fell  the  duty  of  seeing  our  baggage  and  stores 
safely  landed.  Frankly  I  did  not  relish  the  job.  At 
an  English  port  such  duty  would  have  been  simplicity 
itself;  but,  with  memories  of  the  East  coming  back,  I 
knew  I  had  something  in  front  of  me  which  would  tax 
my  watchfulness  and  patience  to  the  uttermost.  For 
in  the  Levant  the  fable  still  exists  that  every  travelling 
Englishman  is  a  milord,  and  there  is  a  deep-laid  all- 
pervasive  conspiracy,  therefore,  between  dragomen, 
porters,  boatmen,  custom-house  officers,  hotel  touts, 
cabmen,  and  all  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  a  foreign 
port,  to  bleed  him  mercilessly  of  his  gold,  a  conspiracy 
which  it  is  almost  impossible  to  circumvent.     All  these 


8  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

bandits  hover  over  him  Hke  vultures,  fight  for  his  body, 
fasten  their  tentacles  into  him  at  every  turn,  exhaust  his 
patience,  lose  his  baggage,  and  finally,  when  they  have 
driven  him  to  the  verge  of  madness,  take  refuge  from 
his  just  fury  behind  the  barrier  of  a  foreign  tongue, 
spreading  deprecating  hands,  shrugging  shoulders,  but 
never  for  a  moment  relaxing  their  steady  siege  on  his 
rapidly  diminishing  resources. 

We  made  fast  alongside  the  wharf  about  7  a.m. ;  and 
here  one  would  have  imagined  the  passengers,  without 
further  fuss,  would  have  been  allowed  to  land  directly. 
But  no  !  Salonika  has  a  large  population  of  longshore- 
men, and,  to  keep  these  comparatively  appeased, 
passengers  are  compelled  by  port  regulations  to  pile 
themselves  and  their  belongings  into  rickety  boats  on 
the  off-side  of  the  ship,  and  thus  get  taken  to  the 
landing  steps  on  the  sea-front,  there  to  wrangle 
over  the  fare  as  one  used  to  do  with  the  old 
London  cabby. 

So,  in  the  intervals  of  directing  our  orderlies  to  get 
our  baggage  and  stores  on  deck,  I  watched  our  fellow 
passengers,  French,  Greek,  Belgian,  Serb,  Roumanian, 
etc.,  getting  their  personal  effects  away,  and  wondered 
how  we  were  going  to  dispose  of  our  mountainous 
impedimenta. 

And  then  we  suddenly  discovered  that  we  were  really 
important  people.  The  Serbian  Consul,  the  English 
Vice-consul,  and  "  Charlie  "  appeared — especially 
"  Charlie."  The  English  Vice-consul  and  I  had  been 
at  the  same  public  school.  Faintly  surprised  at  the 
unexpected  meeting,  we  grinned  at  one  another. 

"Hullo,  Bones,"  I  said.  "Hullo,  Father,"  he 
answered.  Then  he  became  a  government  official  again. 
What  he  really  had  come  about  was  to  meet  "  Our  Mr 
Brown,"  standing  very  quietly  at  my  elbow,  very  in- 
conspicuous. I  introduced  them,  and  they  disappeared 
together.  The  Serbian  Consul  on  the  other  hand,  knew 
nothing  officially  about  this  mysterious  gentleman.    He 


GETTING  THERE  9 

was  there  publicly  to  receive  us,  and  smooth  our  path  as 
far  as  the  frontier. 

Our  "  Chief  "  was  therefore  soon  deep  in  conversation 
with  him;  and  it  was  at  this  moment  that  "  Charlie  " 
discovered  me,  and  took  possession  in  the  way  that  only 
a  '  dragoman  '  can. 

"  Charlie  "  was  a  large,  loose,  bottle-nosed,  polyglot, 
obviously  Hebraic  person  in  a  uniform  cap.  He 
seemed  to  know  and  be  known  to  everyone.  He  was 
evidently  willing  to  do  anything,  or  anyone,  provided 
he  was  sufficiently  well  paid,  and  there  was  no  physical 
risk  attached.  He  never  mentioned  the  word  "  pay  "  of 
course.  That  was  understood  as  between  gentlemen. 
He  told  me  he  had  run  a  "  Hotel  "  at  Shepherd's  Bush. 
If  he  overcharged  his  customers  as  unblushingly  as  he 
did  us  at  Salonika,  I  do  not  wonder  he  had  to  return  to 
the  Levant.     And  yet  in  his  way  he  served  us  well. 

The  Serbian  Consul  had  arranged  that  we  should  be 
allowed  to  land  direct  on  the  wharf.  As  soon  as 
"  Charlie  "  grasped  this,  he  assumed  charge  at  once, 
fixed  up  our  rooms  for  the  night,  and  took  all  the  re- 
sponsibility of  getting  us  off  in  the  morning  from  the 
Consul's  shoulders. 

"  You  will  want  of  your  baggage,  sir,  what  you  will 
need  to  sleep.  The  rest — no  use.  It  can  go  with  the 
stores,  soh  !  and  with  you  will  arrive  at  Nish,"  he  said, 
spreading  his  hands  palms  upwards.  The  "  Chief," 
who  had  been  having  some  difficulty  with  the  Serbian 
Consul's  French,  and  had  called  upon  "  Charlie  "  to 
interpret,  agreed  that  this  was  a  good  plan.  But  I  had 
not  been  in  the  Levant  before  without  learning  some- 
thing. It  sounded  too  good.  I  knew  it  was  too  good, 
and  acted  accordingly,  detailing  two  orderlies  to  make 
sure  that  all  the  personal  baggage  of  the  unit  was 
separated  from  the  stores,  holding  them  responsible  that 
all  kit  should  arrive  complete  at  the  hotel.  It  was 
lucky  I  did  so,  for,  as  it  turned  out,  we  heard  nothing 
of  our  stores  until  ten  days  after  our  arrival  in  Serbia, 


10  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

although  we  saw  them  loaded  into  railway  trucks,  com- 
plete, before  we  left  the  quay-side.  The  Austrians  had 
a  playful  little  way  at  that  time  of  bribing  the  Greek 
porters  to  lose  trucks  containing  presumably  military 
stores.  They  managed  to  lose  ours  for  almost  a  fort- 
night somewhere  about  Monastir. 

I  found  the  others  already  half  way  through  breakfast 
in  the  big  Restaurant  of  the  Olympus  Palace  Hotel, 
when  I  had  finished  the  baggage  question.  It  was  an 
interesting  cosmopolitan  crowd  to  watch,  a  crowd  in 
which  Greek  officers  in  khaki,  very  gorgeous  in  gold 
epaulettes  and  big  curving  swords,  predominated,  for 
the  Greek  army  had  recently  been  mobilized. 

Many-tongued  rumour  was  busy.  The  Serbs  were 
said  to  be  breaking  before  the  onslaught  of  the  Austrian 
hordes.  There  were  circumstantial  reports  that  the 
Grey-coats  had  already  got  as  far  south  as  Nish,  and 
that  nothing  short  of  marching  straight  on  Salonika 
would  satisfy  them  now.  The  Bulgars  were  reported  to 
have  concentrated  250,000  men  on  the  frontier,  ready  to 
join  up  with  the  Austrians,  determined  to  wrest  Mace- 
donia from  the  Greeks  and  Serbs,  by  whose  combined 
"  perfidy  "  they  had  been  deprived  of  it  barely  two 
years  before.  The  air  was  electric ;  and  we  felt,  after 
the  quiet  of  the  sea,  as  though  we  had  been  plunged 
suddenly  into  a  maelstrom.  Editions  of  the  local 
papers  were  coming  out  every  hour;  and  small  boys 
circled  round  the  tables  in  the  restaurant  selling  them. 
There  were  papers  in  Greek,  French,  German,  Turkish, 
Judo-Spanish  and  Italian,  indicating  the  extraordinary 
cosmopolitan  nature  of  the  population.  We  ourselves 
were  hungry  for  news,  and  fell  eagerly  on  such  as  we 
could  read.  We  had  learnt  almost  nothing  at  Malta, 
the  censorship  there  was  so  severe ;  and  the  English 
papers  at  Athens  were  already  ten  days  old.  Anything 
might  have  happened  in  the  meantime. 

Jefferson,    our   Australian   educated   in   the   United 


GETTING  THERE  11 

States,  who  was  the  most  junior  member  of  the  Unit, 
had  been  looking  round  for  later  English  news,  and 
finding  none. 

By  now  everyone  had  come  to  know  him  as  "  Steve  " ; 
and  "  Steve  "  he  remained  until  the  end.  He  was  a 
constant  joy  to  us,  with  his  mixture  of  restless  energy, 
American  slang,  careless  generosity,  flashes  of  shrewd- 
ness, general  youthfulness,  and  occasional  sound 
common  sense. 

He  had  the  natural  assurance  of  the  Australian 
aggravated  by  an  American  education,  and,  without 
any  suspicion  of  the  absurdity  of  his  attitude,  was 
accustomed  to  lecture  us  daily  on  the  war — how  it 
should  be  run,  how  badly  it  was  being  run,  how  much 
better  he  could  do  it  if  he  were  in  control. 

It  was  a  priceless  performance,  and  I,  for  one,  would 
not  have  missed  it  for  anything.  But  in  spite  of  this, 
he  really  was  quite  a  competent  doctor,  rather  apt  to 
rush  to  a  diagnosis  on  insufficient  grounds  like  most 
young  doctors,  but  with  the  makings  of  a  first-class 
clinician  in  him. 

Already  we  were  very  fond  of  Steve. 

Just  before  I  arrived  to  breakfast  he  had  managed  to 
get  hold  of  a  French  journal.  It  was  called  Le  Nouveau 
Steele,  and  his  face  grew  longer  and  longer  as  he 
read. 

"  Say,  Father.  We're  in  a  bad  way,"  he  exclaimed 
when  I  came  in.  "  Listen  to  this,"  and  he  read  out  a 
long  message  about  great  German  victories  on  the 
Marne.  Barclay  by  then  had  got  another  paper.  It 
was  called  UOpinion,  and  presented  the  cause  of  the 
Allies  in  the  most  roseate  way.  According  to  it  the 
Germans  were  at  the  last  gasp,  the  Austrians  suing  for 
peace,  the  Russians  triumphant  everywhere.  Sherlock, 
the  stolid  little  man  from  Manchester,  meanwhile  had 
ferretted  out  yet  another  journal,  Uhidependent.  It 
too,  was  optimistic  on  our  side,  but  not  quite  so  roseate 
as  UOpinion.     Accordingly  we  began  to  compare  notes. 


12  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

"I've  got  a  hunch,"  said  Steve,  "  that  one  of  these 
editors  is  some  Uar." 

"  It  all  depends  on  one's  point  of  view  which  is  the 
liar,"  said  Barclay,  sagely. 

Afterwards,  of  course,  we  discovered  that  all  three 
papers  were  subsidised  to  present  news  favourable  to 
one  or  other  side,  and  that  Austria  in  particular  was 
spending  money  like  water  to  influence  Greek  opinion 
against  intervention  on  the  side  of  the  Allies,  knowing 
that  if  her  cause  succeeded  all  the  Balkan  States  must 
fall  automatically  under  her  suzerainty. 

Before  our  arrival  in  Serbia  two  attempts  at  invasion 
by  Austria  had  failed,  one  in  August,  one  in  September. 
The  third  was  now  in  progress,  and  as  it  seemed,  on  the 
crest  of  success. 

After  breakfast,  knowing  we  could  not  leave  for  the 
frontier  before  the  following  day,  we  started  to  scour 
the  town.  The  first  place  we  sought  naturally  was  the 
Post  Office,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  mail  accumulated 
since  we  left  Malta.  All  along  the  front,  in  the  streets, 
the  trams,  the  cafes,  the  place  was  swarming  with  Greek 
soldiers  dressed  in  khaki.  In  the  Post  Office  we  found 
half  a  dozen  of  them,  and  when  I  was  enquiring  in 
halting  French  about  the  postal  rates  to  England,  one 
of  them  turned  suddenly  on  me. 

"  Say.  Mister.  Are  you  British  ?"  he  said  in  a  pro- 
nounced American  accent;  and  we  all  became  friends 
at  once. 

He  was  a  reservist  from  Pittsburg,  recalled  to  the 
colours ;  and  there  were  hundreds  like  him,  he  informed 
us,  in  Salonika.  Indeed  we  could  not  help  seeing  it  was 
so,  for  they  stopped  us  constantly  in  the  most  friendly 
manner  in  the  street,  insisting  on  conversing  with  us, 
sometimes  possibly  to  air  their  English  before  their  less 
travelled  comrades,  but  always  with  a  genuine  friendly 
feeling  which  there  was  no  mistaking.  Whatever  was 
the  feeling  of  their  officers,  and  we  had  a  sensation  it  was 
none  too  kindly  at  times,  there  was  no  doubt  as  to  that 


Plate  I.^Crcck  soldier.  Creek    \lbaniau  soldier. 

Salonika. 


GETTING  THERE  18 

of  the  men.  They  were  quite  sure  that  they  would  be 
at  war  within  a  fortnight  on  the  side  of  the  Allies,  and 
the  relish  with  which  they  talked  of  cutting  up  the 
Bulgars,  showed  that  they,  at  any  rate,  had  a  very 
definite  idea  whom  the  enemy  would  be.  That,  you 
will  remember,  was  in  the  end  of  October  1914. 

Salonika,  like  every  other  ancient  city,  still  flourish- 
ing, is  a  palimpsest  of  history.  Situated  on  the  broad 
alluvial  plain,  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  Vardar  and 
the  Inji  Karasu,  spreading  up  to  the  hills  on  the  north 
between  its  crumbling  walls,  from  the  Tower  of  Blood 
on  the  sea-front  to  the  Castle  of  the  Seven  Towers 
(Heptapyrgion),  it  presents  a  moving  picture  in  which 
the  Eastern  note  is  ever  dominant,  in  spite  of  the 
modernity  of  electric  cars  on  the  front,  and  elaborately 
stuccoed  white  villas  along  the  sea-shore  beyond  the 
walls  to  the  east.  This  note  is  partly  due  to  the  con- 
stant panorama  presented  by  the  kaleidoscopic 
passers-by  —  portly  fezzed  Turks,  white  capped 
Albanians,  Cretans  with  enormously  baggy  trousers, 
tall,  white-kilted  Greek  mountaineers  with  whiskered 
shoes,  solemn  Greek  priests  all  in  black,  patriarchal 
Jewish  Rabbis,  dark  skinned  piratical-looking  sailors, 
gold  earringed,  with  gaudy  handkerchiefs  tied  round 
their  heads,  arriving  from  the  neighbouring  ^gean 
islands  with  their  cargoes  of  fish,  mussels,  squids, 
sponges,  which  they  were  unloading  from  the  feluccas 
along  the  sea-front — but  it  is  chiefly,  I  think,  caused  by 
the  fact,  that  no  matter  where  you  wander  you  con- 
stantly come  across  some  great-domed  mosque,  with  its 
soul  uplifting  minaret,  a  slender  white  finger  pointing 
towards  high  heaven,  the  one  great  contribution 
Mohammedan  architecture  has  given  to  the  aesthetic 
pleasure  of  the  world. 

Steve,  Sherlock  and  I  wandered  round  on  foot,  freed 
from  further  responsibility  for  the  day.  A  military 
band  was  playing  in  the  square  just  beyond  our  hotel, 


14  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

and  the  little  marble  tables  of  the  Odeon  and  other 
cafes  around  were  fully  occupied.  We  followed  the 
street  leading  out  of  the  square  at  right  angles  to  the 
sea-front,  as  most  of  the  European  shops  were  there,  and 
it  would  be  our  last  opportunity  of  acquiring  various 
things  we  needed  before  we  left.  Sherlock  dubbed  it 
"  Oxford  Street  "  at  once;  and  ever  after  we  used  the 
name  when  talking  of  it.  Presently  we  found  it 
narrowed,  then  was  roofed  over,  and  we  were  now  in 
the  dim-lit  centre  of  the  bazaar,  whose  streets,  teeming 
with  ant-like  life,  opened  out  on  either  side,  completely 
oriental  in  their  careless  irregularity  of  outline,  narrow 
width,  and  heterogeneous,  multi-coloured  contents. 

Wandering  round,  turning  at  a  right  angle,  we 
presently  found  ourselves  in  a  wider  street  with  tram 
lines.  Compared  with  those  we  had  just  been  through, 
it  seemed  modern,  tamie ;  and  then,  suddenly  we  came 
upon  a  crumbling,  weather-beaten  arch  stretching  over 
it,  supported  on  square  columns,  carved  in  three  tiers  of 
worn  old  bas-reliefs  in  marble,  representing  Roman 
legionaries  marching  in  triumph.  It  was  as  if  the  finger 
of  time  had  set  the  clock  violently  back  for  centuries. 
We  all  stared  at  it  solemnly. 

A  little  Greek  clerk  who  was  passing  turned  his 
head. 

"  C^est  VArc  de  Triomphe  d^ Alexandre  le  grand,^^  he 
said  politely. 

Steve  drew  a  long  breath.  Coming  from  a  country 
with  no  history,  and  no  monuments,  he  was  staggered. 

"  Gee,"  he  said.  "  This  is  some  Arch.  Why  it's 
B.C.  !     Great  snakes,  to  think  of  it." 

And  then  it  dawned  on  me.  The  commonplace 
modern  street  in  which  we  were  walking  with  its 
commonplace  tram-lines,  and  tumble-down  mean 
houses,  was  the  "  VIA  EGNATIA,"  the  great  Roman 
road  running  from  Constantinople  across  Macedonia  to 
the  Adriatic,  built  to  connect  the  two  great  capitals  of 
the  Empire ;  and  the  arch  we  were  looking  at  was  the 


GETTING  THERE  15 

Arch  of  Constantine  over  the  Calamerian  Gate.  Under 
it,  grim  Roman  centurians  had  led  their  legionaries  out 
to  battle  against  the  barbarian  hordes.  It  had  seen  the 
gorgeous  processions  of  Byzantine  emperors.  Fierce 
hook-nosed  Saracens  had  stormed  through  it,  scimitar 
in  hand,  in  triumph.  It  had  looked  down  upon  the 
armed  hosts  of  the  Crusaders.  The  Norman  knights  of 
Boniface,  Marquis  of  Montferret,  King  of  Thessalonika, 
had  kept  watch  and  ward  within  its  portals.  Captains 
of  the  great  Republic  of  Venice,  panoplied  in  armour, 
had  defended  it  against  the  onslaughts  of  the  dread 
Osmanli.  Finally  the  Crescent  had  triumphed  over  the 
Cross ;  and  then,  for  over  five  hundred  years,  it  had 
slumbered  peacefully  under  the  shadow  of  the  Padishah. 
For  five  hundred  years  it  had  heard  the  silver  call  of 
the  muezzin  from  the  corbelled  gallery  of  the  minaret 
adjoining : 

"  God  is  great.  I  bear  witness  that  there  is  no  God 
but  God.  I  bear  witness  that  Mohammed  is  the 
Prophet  of  God.  Come  to  prayers.  Come  to  salvation. 
God  is  great.     There  is  no  God  but  God." 

The  call  had  been  repeated  so  many  thousand  times 
that  the  memory  of  other  things  had  become  as  it  were 
the  shadow  of  a  dream.  Constant  reiteration  had 
blotted  out  all  memory  of  the  pale-faced  Nazarene.  It 
seemed  as  though  its  sleep  was  destined  to  last  for 
ever. 

And  then  had  come  the  change,  sudden,  sharp, 
dramatic,  heralded  by  the  rapid  staccato  of  the  machine 
gun.  A  miracle  had  happened.  The  immemorial 
Turk  had  vanished  like  a  vision  in  the  night.  His 
reign  was  over.  The  voice  of  the  muezzin  had  ceased 
to  call  the  faithful  to  prayer.  The  Cross  was  once 
again  in  the  ascendant.  The  Crescent  was  no  more. 
The  conflict  had  been  so  recent  that  the  scars  were 
still  fresh  when  we  came  upon  the  scene.  Through  the 
adjoining  streets  the  struggle  had  lasted  for  forty-eight 


16  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

hours;  and  here  and  there  the  stuccoed  fronts  of  the 
houses  were  still  pitted  by  the  bullet  holes  no  one  had 
yet  had  time  to  plaster  over. 


Most  of  the  mosques  had  now  been  closed.  Such  as 
were  churches  before  the  time  of  the  Moslem,  notably 
St.  Sophia,  and  St.  Demetrius,  had  been  reconsecrated 
to  their  original  use.  St.  Sophia  was  built  in  the  time 
of  Justinian.  It  became  a  mosque  in  1589,  and  was 
reconsecrated  again  in  1913.  Thus  we  were  able  to  see 
the  curious  sight  of  a  minaret  standing  alongside  the 
great  central  dome,  from  whose  apex  a  cross  once  more 
shone  golden  against  the  blue. 

It  was  the  church  of  St.  Demetrius,  patron  saint  of 
Salonika,  however,  which  we  found  the  most  interesting. 
It  too  had  been  a  mosque  for  centuries ;  but  the  Turks 
had  been  so  casual  in  its  conversion  that  they  had 
merely  white-washed  over  the  wonderful  Byzantine 
mosaics  of  the  Saviour  in  gold  and  green  and  blue,  with 
which  the  interior  is  decorated ;  and  now  these  had  once 
more  been  given  to  the  light  of  day.  They  also  had 
respected  the  tomb  of  the  saint,  and  his  reputed  miracle- 
working  body  in  its  stone  sarcophagus,  although  there 
is  a  legend  that  this  was  hacked  to  pieces  by  order  of 
the  Sultan  Armurath  II.  when  Salonika  was  sacked  in 
1430. 

The  body  of  the  saint  is  said  to  exude  a  miraculous 
oil,  hence  his  title  of  *'  Myroblete  " ;  and  this  oil  is 
reputed  to  cure  almost  every  affliction  that  flesh  is  heir 
to.  Pilgrims  therefore  seeking  relief  have  flocked  to 
the  tomb,  and  prayed  before  it  for  centuries — for  the 
Moslem,  in  spite  of  his  reputation  to  the  contrary,  has 
always  been  extremely  tolerant  of  Christian  mythology ; 
and  so,  during  all  the  centuries  the  church  was  a 
mosque,  Christians  were  allowed  freely  to  visit  the 
sacred  site.  The  tomb  was  always  carefully  looked 
after  by  a  dervish  of  the  Mevlevi  order,  the  holy  lamp 


GETTING  THERE  17 

kept  lit,  and  apparently  the  dervish  in  charge  seems  to 
have  had  as  great  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  the  saint's  body 
as  the  Christian  worshippers  who  came  there. 

The  tomb  itself  is  in  a  little  dark  side  chapel  to  the 
left  of  the  entrance;  and  when  we  visited  it  we  found 
it  again  in  the  care  of  a  Greek  monk,  the  gentle  dervish 
keepers  having  been  displaced.  Devotees,  mostly 
women  in  black,  came  in  quietly  as  we  watched,  bought 
a  taper  from  the  monk,  lit  it,  stuck  it  in  a  niche,  mur- 
mured their  prayers  softly,  and  then  as  quietly  made 
their  exit.  No  one  spoke  until  we  were  outside. 
"  Guess  you'd  see  nothing  like  this  in  little  old  New 
York,"  said  Steve,  impressed  and  not  wishing  to  appear 
so,  conscious  of  a  sense  of  something  missed,  and  not 
quite  able  to  express  it. 

Wandering  round  through  devious,  narrow,  precipi- 
tous streets,  with  overhanging  balconies,  and  secret 
looking  latticed  windows,  past  stoutly  barred  doorways, 
suggestive  of  stealthy  intrigue,  dodging  heavily  laden 
porters,  and  panniered  donkeys  in  the  narrow  alley- 
ways, half  turning  to  look  at  veiled  women,  clearing 
to  one  side  in  the  wider  streets  when  persistent  cries  of 
"  oz,  oz,  oz  "  told  us  that  a  fiacre,  recklessly  driven  by 
some  turbaned  jehu,  was  getting  perilously  close  to  our 
heels,  we  gradually  worked  towards  the  lower  levels  of 
the  city  again.     Then  we  missed  Sherlock. 

Turning  round  to  look  for  him,  I  saw  him  disappear 
up  an  alley,  past  a  gipsy-like  woman,  who  was  drawing 
water  from  a  tap  into  a  big  red  amphora,  outside  the 
broken-down  wall  of  an  old  mosque.  A  stream  of 
picturesquely  ragged  women  and  children  swirled  back- 
wards and  forwards  past  her,  in  and  out  of  the  mosque  ; 
and  presently,  her  amphora  filled,  she  swung  it  on  to  her 
head,  and  arm  poised,  joined  the  entering  throng  behind 
Sherlock.  Following  her,  coming  from  the  bright  sun- 
light into  the  gloom  of  the  interior,  I  thought  at  first 
we  had  got  into  a  market  place,  for  the  whole  of  the 
ground  space  was  occupied  by  little  heaps  of  piled-up 
B 


18  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

household  goods,  vegetables  and  pottery,  amongst  and 
around  which  groups  of  peasants  were  squatting,  amid 
pots  and  pans,  cradles,  clothes,  stools,  curtains,  brass 
ornaments,  stoves  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  a 
marine  store.  Everywhere,  children  were  swarming; 
and  the  smell  of  cooking  was  all  pervasive.  Presently 
we  discovered  what  it  meant.  These  people  were 
refugee  Greeks,  mainly  from  Smyrna  and  Asia  Minor, 
fleeing  before  the  anger  of  the  Turk.  They  were  being 
fed  by  the  Greek  government,  and  housed,  in  a  sort  of 
"  punishment-fit-the-crime "  manner,  exclusively  in 
mosques  commandeered  from  the  Salonika  Moslems. 
We  tried  to  photograph  the  scene,  but  the  semi-darkness 
made  anything  like  a  snap-shot  impossible,  and  the 
constant  movement  of  the  children  a  time  exposure 
futile. 

Life  has  a  way  of  being  very  inartistic.  There  is  no 
gradation  about  her.  She  has  a  habit  of  violent  anti- 
theses. When  we  got  back  to  the  hotel  we  were  just  in 
time  for  the  great  social  function  of  the  day — five 
o'clock  tea  to  the  strains  of  an  orchestra  in  the  winter 
garden  of  the  Olympus.  It  was  impossible  not  to  con- 
trast it  with  the  scene  we  had  just  witnessed.  Instead 
of  squalor,  gloom,  rags,  overcrowding  and  the  close 
heavy  atmosphere  of  mixed  greasy  cooking,  we  came 
upon  light  and  laughter,  the  fru-jru  of  silk,  the  gold 
and  silver,  blue  and  red  of  uniforms,  the  sound  of  gay 
voices,  tea-cups,  clinking  spurs,  tapping  sabres,  inter- 
weaving with  the  soft  strains  of  the  orchestra  hidden 
behind  a  mass  of  evergreens.  Deft  waiters  in  black 
crossed  and  recrossed  the  view,  carrying  brightly 
polished  trays  laden  with  silver,  china  and  patisserie. 
There  was  much  stately  bowing  and  kissing  of  ladies' 
hands,  sidelong  glances  under  heavy  lashes,  gesticula- 
tion, laughter  and  more  laughter.  It  might  have  been 
a  scene  in  the  Ring-strasse  at  Vienna,  instead  of  in  this 
time-worn  old  city. 


GETTING  THERE  19 

Knocking  round  the  world  has  deprived  me  largely  of 
the  sense  of  surprise  ;  so  when  the  man  from  the  Adelphi 
Club  looked  up  from  his  corner  in  the  cafe,  met  my  eye, 
nodded,  and  said  : 

"  How  d'ye  do,"  quite  casually,  I  answered,  just  as 
casually  : 

"  Fairish,  thank  you,  fairish,"  and  sat  down  beside 
him,  after  ordering  tea.  Neither  of  us  troubled  to  ask 
the  other's  business.  For  the  moment  I  could  not 
remember  his  name.  I  am  quite  sure  he  did  not  know 
mine.  For  in  the  Adelphi  Club  names  are  of  no  im- 
portance. Men  come,  talk,  are  seen  every  day  for 
weeks,  and  then  disappear,  to  return  three,  six,  twelve 
months  later.  No  one  asks  whence  they  come,  and 
whither  they  go.  It  is  enough  if  their  conversation  be 
interesting.  Swaine  and  I  had  met  thus  at  irregular 
intervals  for  years.  I  knew  he  must  be  a  writer, 
probably  a  war  or  foreign  correspondent.  He  knew  I 
belonged  to  one  of  the  scientific  professions — probably 
medicine.  Naturally  I  asked  him  to  come  and  dine 
with  us  that  evening. 

We  were  supposed  to  be  starting  for  Nish  early  next 
morning;  but,  when  the  Serbian  Consul  came  in  after 
dinner,  we  learned  we  were  to  be  stopped  at  Uskub 
(Skoplje).  The  Consul  explained  elaborately  that  the 
Paget  Unit  had  been  placed  there  three  days  previously, 
and  it  was  thought  the  other  English  unit  should  be  in 
the  same  place.  Our  Chief  was  very  much  disturbed 
by  this. 

"  But  can  you  assure  me  there  will  be  enough  surgical 
scope  for  two  units  there  ?"  he  said,  anxiously. 

The  Consul  threw  up  his  hands  dramatically. 

"  Work  !  You  desire  work,  n^est  pas?  There  will  be 
work,  too  much.  The  Serbian  doctors  they  are  too  few. 
Our  good  friends  the  Russians  they  cannot  spare  us 
enough.  Work,  Monsieur  le  docteur,  at  Skoplje  !  "  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  mournfully.  "  There  is  work 
everywhere  in  Serbie." 


20  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

The  war  correspondent  murmured  quietly  to  me  : — 

"  Poor  beggar,  he  doesn't  say  so,  but  it  is  probable 
you  couldn't  get  to  Nish  if  you  wanted  to.  The  news 
to-night  is  very  bad.  Retirement  after  retirement. 
The  Serbs  have  evacuated  Kraguievatz,  their  only 
arsenal,  to-day;  and  the  Austrians  are  said  to  be  within 
seventy  kilometres  of  Nish,  straddled  across  the  railway 
at  Stallash.  There's  talk  already  of  moving  the  govern- 
ment down  to  Skoplje ;  so,  if  you  get  there,  you'll  be  in 
the  thick  of  it." 

"  If  we  get  there  .f"'  I  queried. 

"  Yes.  If  you  get  there.  A  nice,  harmless  old 
gentleman,  with  a  German  accent,  probably  an  Austrian 
spy,  confided  in  me  this  afternoon  that  the  Bulgars  were 
going  to  cut  the  line  to-night  to  isolate  the  Serbs  from 
Salonika.  Of  course  it's  only  a  boast  of  his.  If  he 
really  knew  he  wouldn't  tell  me.  But  it  seems  that  the 
Serbs  are  very  short  of  ammunition,  and  that  the  French 
are  sending  it  in  quantities  from  here.  If  the  Bulgars 
can  manage  to  cut  the  line,  it  won't  get  through ;  and 
then  '  Good-bye  Serbie.'  " 

"  But  the  Bulgars  are  not  at  war  with  the  Serbs,"  I 
protested. 

He  smiled.  "  There's  always  war  in  Macedonia. 
Not  officially,  of  course.  Ever  heard  of  the  Komitadgi  ? 
No.  Well,  you'll  know  all  about  them  soon.  Good-bye. 
Good  luck  to  you  !  " 


CHAPTER  II 
SKOPLJE 

Leaving  for  Serbia — Uskub  and  how  we  were  stopped  there — Intro- 
ducing Ike,  the  Austrian  nunnery,  Franz  and  the  '  Sestras  ' — 
Serbian  mud  and  the  magnificent  Albanian — The  bridge  of  Stefan 
the  Strangler — In  the  Turkish  quarter — How  the  wounded  came — 
A  momentous  decision. 

IT  was  a  beautiful  Sunday  morning  late  in 
November  when  we  said  good-bye  to  Salonika. 
We  breakfasted  at  six,  collected  and  sent  our  kit 
ahead  with  the  orderlies  and  "  Charlie,"  paid  the  extor- 
tionate bill  presented  blandly  by  the  Austrian  pro- 
prietor, bent  on  spoiling  the  Egyptians. 

Strolling  on  later  in  the  fresh  morning  air  to  the 
station,  Steve  and  I  stopped  once  or  twice  to  take  photo- 
graphs, and  thus  presently  found  ourselves  out- 
distanced by  the  other  officers.  Eventually  arriving  at 
what  we  thought  was  the  station,  we  saw  five  of  our 
orderlies  calmly  seated  in  a  carriage,  happy  and  con- 
tent ;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the  rest  of  the  company, 
nor  of  the  baggage. 

"  I  guess  we've  struck  the  wrong  depot,"  said  Steve. 

"  Say.  Where  does  this  train  go  to  ?"  he  called  out 
to  a  porter.  The  man  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 
Then  a  Greek  soldier  standing  by  turned  to  us  grinning. 
"  Where  you  want  to  go,  mister  ?  Chicago,  or  San 
Francisco  ?" 

Steve  smiled  back  at  him. 

"  Sonny,  I  hate  to  tell  you.  But  it's  somewhere  in 
Serbia,"  he  confided. 

"  Then  you  better  get  busy,  pretty  quick,  or  you 
miss."     He  pointed  to  the  left,  half  a  mile  ahead. 

21 


22  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

"  That  your  depot,  Mister  Doctor,"  he  said,  and  we 
stopped  smiling. 

Bundling  out  our  men,  we  doubled  for  the  other 
station,  arriving  just  in  time. 

The  journey  over  the  plain  of  Macedonia  was  mono- 
tonously slow.  The  country  on  either  side  was  one 
broad  rolling  vista,  devoid  of  cultivation.  Occasionally 
a  shepherd  in  his  long  cloak,  crook  in  hand,  with  his 
little  flock  of  sheep  following,  would  be  seen.  Occa- 
sionally we  passed  a  solitary  peasant  crouched  on  his 
patient  ass,  ambling  slowly  along  the  ancient  road  from 
Salonika  into  the  interior.  Every  now  and  then  we 
stopped  at  some  deserted  little  wayside  station,  always 
with  its  guard  of  khaki-clad  Greek  soldiers  with  fixed 
bayonets. 

Far  away  to  the  west  were  the  snow-clad  ranges  of 
Thessaly,  with  Olympus  still  in  view.  Directly  north, 
ever  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  were  the  mountains  of 
Serbia,  glittering  crystalline  white ;  and  always  as  the 
hours  passed  we  seemed  to  be  just  as  far  away  from 
them  as  when  we  started. 

At  length  came  an  interruption.  We  had  reached 
the  frontier  station  at  Ghevgeli,  and  were  at  last  on 
Serbian  soil,  the  khaki-clad  Greek  soldier  now  being 
replaced  by  the  blue-grey  Serb,  of  whom  we  were  soon 
to  have  so  intimate  a  knowledge.  We  changed  over 
into  a  new  set  of  carriages  provided  by  the  Serbian 
government,  and  found  we  had  once  again  become 
personages.  Serbian  officials,  very  trim  and  smart,  in 
peaked  caps  decorated  with  the  old  Byzantine  double 
eagle,  long  grey  overcoats,  clanking  swords,  and  high 
top-boots  took  possession  of  us,  talking  in  rapid  French. 

After  an  interval  our  new  train  started,  and  we  found 
that  the  character  of  the  scenery  gradually  changed. 
The  line  of  the  railway  now  followed  closely  the  coils  of 
the  Vardar,  the  great  river  which  winds  from  the 
mountains  of  Serbia  downwards  to  the  Mgean  at 
Salonika.     High  hills,  covered  with  scrub,  now  shut  us 


SKOPLJE  23 

in  on  either  side,  coming  close  at  places,  receding  for 
several  miles  at  others,  once  narrowing  down  to  a  rocky- 
defile,  leaving  room  only  for  the  river  and  the  railway. 
Occasionally,  where  the  valley  widened,  we  saw  great 
orchards  of  apple,  plum  and  cherry  trees,  for  we  were 
now  in  a  latitude  too  high  for  the  dark  olive  groves  so 
characteristic  of  Greece.  Occasionally  we  crossed  the 
Vardar  on  a  bridge,  and  here  the  train  always  slowed 
down  to  a  crawl. 

This,  we  found,  was  because  nearly  all  the  bridges 
had  been  blown  up  during  various  raids,  Serb,  Bulgar, 
Turk,  within  the  last  three  years ;  and  they  had  never 
been  properly  repaired  in  the  intervals,  wooden 
buttresses,  and  iron  girders  taking  the  place  of  stone. 
All  along  the  line,  at  frequent  intervals,  were  Serbian 
guards,  who  came  smartly  to  attention  as  the  train 
passed.  They  were  mostly  elderly-looking  men,  clad 
in  rough,  peasant  homespun,  shod  in  sandals,  with 
monk-like  hoods  over  their  heads ;  but  their  rifles 
seemed  serviceable,  their  bandoliers  full,  their  sidearms 
bright,  and  they  looked,  what  they  were,  efficient 
soldiers.  Their  guard  houses  would  have  shocked  the 
British  military  eye.  Many  were  mere  shelters  of  osiers 
plastered  with  mud,  large  enough  to  accommodate  one 
man  only.  Others,  however,  were  half  cave,  half  mud- 
hut,  capable  of  holding  some  four  or  five  men  comfort- 
ably, each  with  its  little  tin  chimney,  projecting  through 
the  roof  of  sods,  to  carry  away  the  blue  smoke  of  the 
wood  stove  lit  for  comfort  and  cooking  purposes  inside. 
Altogether  the  line  from  the  frontier  was  patrolled  with 
a  care  which  seemed  to  us  excessive  at  the  time,  not 
knowing,  as  we  did  later,  the  constant  risk  from  bands 
of  Bulgarian  bandits  (Komitadgi)  always  on  the  lookout 
for  the  chance  of  a  successful  night  raid  from  the  hills 
across  the  frontier  only  a  few  hours'  march  away. 

Slowly  the  train  clanked  onwards.  We  smoked,  and 
talked,  and  ate  our  rations,  watching  the  afternoon  wear 
towards  evening,  the  shadows  lengthen,  the  landscape 


24  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

become  less  and  less  distinct.  And  then  quite  suddenly 
came  the  dark.  It  was  then  also  we  discovered  there 
were  no  lights  in  the  carriages,  and  found  out  why  there 
were  so  many  spots  of  candle  grease  on  the  window- 
ledges  and  the  seats.  The  lighting  arrangements  had 
been  put  permanently  out  of  gear  at  the  beginning  of 
the  war,  to  prevent  sniping;  but  the  intelligent 
passenger,  ignoring  the  risk,  had  retorted  by  buying 
candles  and  sticking  them  down  anywhere  on  the  ledges 
of  the  uncurtained  windows. 

Not  knowing  these  little  idiosyncrasies  we  were  taken 
unawares;  and  thus  were  plunged  into  complete  dark- 
ness at  nightfall.  The  train  jogged  slowly  onwards. 
We  had  been  by  now  some  twelve  hours  on  the  journey, 
and  were  getting  rather  cramped,  and  somewhat  ragged 
tempered. 

It  was  at  this  inopportune  period  that  the  Chief 
suddenly  spoke  in  the  darkness. 

"I've  been  thinking  it  over,  and  cannot  see  why  we 
should  stop  at  Uskub.  We've  got  our  orders  from 
London  to  report  at  Nish.  I  propose  we  go  on,  and 
take  no  notice  of  the  Consul's  message." 

Frankly  the  prospect  appalled  us.  The  idea  of  spend- 
ing another  twelve  hours,  cramped,  six  men  and 
baggage,  in  a  carriage  where  we  could  not  even  see  one 
another,  was  exceedingly  uninviting.  None  of  us  were 
accustomed  at  that  time  to  the  inconveniences  of  mili- 
tary travelling.  The  next  four  years  were  to  give  most 
of  us  ample  opportunities  of  realising  that  what  we 
thought  then  uncomfortable  was  the  height  of  luxury. 
At  that  time  only  the  Chief  knew,  and  naturally  we 
expostulated.  It  was  pointed  out  that  orders  issued  in 
London  could  not  possibly  be  treated  as  overriding  those 
necessitated  by  subsequent  military  conditions.  We 
reminded  him,  that,  though  the  officials  at  the  frontier 
were  elaborately  certain  that  communications  with  Nish 
still  were  undisturbed,  there  was  more  of  hope  than 
faith  in  their  assertions.      While  we  were  arguing  the 


SKOPLJE  25 

point,  the  lights  of  a  large  town  loomed  up  in  the 
distance. 

"  Uskub  !  "  said  everyone. 

We  arrived  in  a  dark  station  about  the  time  we  were 
due  at  Uskub.  Swarms  of  people  tried  to  get  into  the 
train,  already  overcrowded,  tried  to  invade  our  carriage. 
There  was  no  one  apparently  in  control  to  whom  we 
could  refer.  Presently  a  boy  came  along  selling  candles. 
Sherlock  seized  a  packet  eagerly,  and  asked  where  we 
were.  The  boy  could  not  understand.  He  stared  at 
the  strange  uniform,  and  seemed  afraid  we  did  not 
intend  to  pay  for  the  candles.  Eventually  we  found 
we  were  at  Veles  (Kopreli),  and  had  still  another  two 
hours  before  we  came  to  Uskub  (Skoplje). 

The  candle  light  made  us  all  more  cheerful.  By  tacit 
consent  the  question  of  going  on  to  Nish  was  dropped. 
We  had  decided  to  wait  until  we  arrived  at  Uskub. 
Apparently  the  light  made  time  move  more  quickly,  for 
we  were  almost  surprised  when  eventually  we  arrived 
at  another  large  town.  It  really  was  Uskub  (Skoplje) 
this  time.  The  station  was  very  crowded.  We  saw  a 
number  of  Serbian  officers  on  the  platform.  Our  men 
began  to  put  their  heads  out. 

The  Chief  and  I  got  out,  and  threaded  our  way 
towards  the  officers.  A  Serbian  Major  caught  sight  of 
us,  came  over,  saluted  punctiliously  and  explained  in 
French  that  he  was  there  to  meet  us.  Then  he  brought 
a  Colonel,  and  they  both  talked  to  us  at  once. 

The  Colonel's  French  was  atrocious.  He  kept 
saying  :— 

"  Restez  id,  Restez  ici,''  very  excitedly. 

The  Chief  was  very  troubled.  "  I  wonder  if  they 
really  have  any  power  to  stop  us,"  he  said.  "  They 
seem  so  positive —  " 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  "  Ike  "  arrived.  "  Ike  " 
was  a  tall,  thin  person,  in  a  black  tail  coat  with  yellow 
buttons,  and  a  grey  Serbian  soldier's  cap.  He  spoke 
with  a  fluent  American  accent,  explaining  that  he  was 


26  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

the  official  interpreter  attached  to  us,  that  positive 
orders  had  come  from  Nish  to  detain  us,  that  the  excit- 
able Colonel  was  the  P.M.O.  of  Southern  Serbia,  and 
the  Major  the  Commandant  of  the  Hospital  to  which 
we  were  going  to  be  attached.  He  added  that  our 
quarters  were  all  prepared  for  us,  and  everything  ready, 
including  a  hot  supper. 

I  think  that  finished  us.  The  idea  of  a  hot  supper 
after  fifteen  hours  of  tinned  food.  Even  the  Chief  was 
convinced. 

"  Get  the  men  out.  Detail  six  to  collect  the 
baggage.  Order  the  rest  to  form  up  before  the  station 
exit,"  he  said. 

Our  quarters  were  not  three  minutes'  from  the 
station;  and  we  marched  there  accompanied  by  the 
Colonel  and  Major,  passing  through  the  crowd  of 
peasants,  soldiers,  Albanians,  Turks,  who  were  seething 
outside  the  station  barrier  staring  curiously  at  us. 

The  quarters  proved  much  better  than  we  had  antici- 
pated. Up  to  the  time  of  the  war  they  had  been  an 
Austrian  nunnery;  but  the  nuns,  gentle,  harmless 
women,  had  been  dispossessed  some  two  months  pre- 
viously, the  building  was  empty,  and  it  seemed  the  most 
suitable  place  they  could  give  us. 

In  half  an  hour  we  had  selected  our  rooms,  dumped 
our  kit,  fixed  up  the  Officers'  and  Men's  mess,  and  were 
ready  for  supper,  very  tired,  and  very  happy  to  be 
at  our  destination  after  three  weeks  of  variegated 
travelling. 

It  was  a  curious  meal.  In  front  of  each  of  us  on  the 
bare  table  three  enamelled  soup  plates,  one  on  the  top 
of  the  other,  a  knife,  and  a  tin  spoon  were  placed.  As 
we  finished  a  course  the  plate  was  removed,  and  we 
started  with  the  same  knife  and  spoon  on  the  plate 
below.  Two  young  girls,  with  white  handkerchiefs 
decorated  with  red  crosses  tied  over  their  hair,  waited 
on  us,  watched  over  by  the  ubiquitous  "  Ike."  These, 
we  found,  were  voluntary  workers  detailed  to  look  after 


SKOPLJE  27 

us  until  we  found  servants.  We  started  with  a  thick 
hot  soup  with  fragments  of  meat  in  it.  This  was 
followed  by  fried  slices  of  very  tough  buffalo  beef  and 
potatoes.     We  had  rye  bread  and  rough  red  wine. 

Finally  came  Russian  tea  with  lemon  and  sugar  in 
glasses ;  and  Ike  produced  in  addition  a  bottle  labelled 
"  Koniak,"  a  raw  native  brandy  that  proved  too  much 
even  for  Stretton,  the  only  one  bold  enough  to  experi- 
ment. It  was  a  joyous  meal.  We  laughed,  made  little 
speeches  in  reply  to  those  of  the  Serbian  officers,  thawed 
completely. 

Eventually  our  kind  hosts  left  us,  clanking  off  in  stiff 
military  fashion ;  and  presently  we  all  gravitated  to  our 
contiguous  rooms  for  a  conversational  smoke,  sitting  in 
our  camp  chairs  in  the  ease  of  unbuttoned  tunics,  before 
turning  in  for  the  night. 

The  nunnery  was  a  comfortable,  one-storied,  yellow 
plastered  building  with  a  courtyard  in  front,  surrounded 
by  high  walls  having  a  grilled  gate  opening  on  the  main 
street.  There  were  two  wings  behind,  which  had  beeii 
used  as  the  wards  of  a  small  maternity  hospital,  and 
made  excellent  dormitories  for  our  men.  There  was 
also  a  little  chapel,  now  sealed  up  by  the  Serbian 
Government,  a  yard  with  a  pump,  a  kitchen  garden,  and 
a  big  neglected  rose  garden.  In  peace  time  it  must  have 
been  a  sunny,  happy  little  place.  As  it  was,  until  our 
trouble  came  we  looked  upon  it  affectionately  as 
"  home."  It  was  stoutly  built,  with  double  windows, 
cool  in  summer,  warm  in  winter. 

Anticipating  the  cold  of  Serbia,  we  had  brought  heavy 
sleeping  bags  with  us.  Out  of  doors  it  certainly  was 
cold ;  but  in  our  quarters  we  found  it  stiflingly  hot,  for 
the  double  windows  had  all  been  hermetically  sealed  for 
the  winter,  and  in  each  room  the  central  stove,  with  its 
sheet-iron  chimney  pipe,  was  kept  almost  red  hot  by  the 
energetic  stoking  of  Franz,  our  Austrian  orderly,  whose 
main  idea  in  life  apparently  was  to  keep  on  adding  logs 
of  wood  to  each  stove  on  the  slightest  provocation. 


28  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Franz  was  a  puzzle  to  us  at  first.  His  open  smiling 
blue  eyes  and  flaxen  hair  could  easily  have  been  dupli- 
cated in  any  Sussex  village.  He  was  obviously  not  a 
Serb;  and  yet  he  was  dressed  in  Serbian  uniform,  grey 
tunic  and  trousers,  cap  and  sandals  complete.  He 
talked  Serbian  fluently;  but  his  knowledge  of  German 
was  rudimentary  in  the  extreme.  Eventually  we  found 
out  he  was  a  Czech,  who  had  fought  for  the  Serbs  in  the 
first  Balkan  war,  and  had  refused  to  return  to  his 
country  when  war  broke  out  between  Austria  and  the 
Serbs.  As  he  was,  however,  naturally  unwilling  to  fight 
against  his  own  countrymen,  he  had  been  employed  as  a 
hospital  orderly  until  we  arrived.  When  he  came  to  us 
he  could  not  speak  a  word  of  English,  and  we  had  to 
indicate  by  signs  what  we  wanted ;  but  he  was  abnor- 
mally intelligent,  picked  up  English  very  rapidly,  and 
we  turned  him  into  a  first-class  valet  in  a  week.  At 
night  he  slept  on  a  narrow  wooden  form  outside  my 
door,  with  his  ration  of  rye  bread  in  a  haversack  over 
his  head.  It  looked  horribly  uncomfortable;  but  he 
seemed  to  thrive  and  be  happy  on  it.  Every  morning  at 
five-thirty  he  was  up  and  about,  making  fires,  cleaning 
top-boots,  belts,  buttons,  bringing  hot  water  for  the 
baths,  making  himself  generally  indispensable. 

On  the  night  of  our  arrival  we  astonished  him  by  care- 
fully unscrewing  and  opening  every  window  before  turn- 
ing in  for  the  night.  He  was  obviously  amazed  at  the 
foolishness  of  it.  Clearly  he  could  not  understand. 
But  he  was  good-naturedly  polite  about  it.  After  all 
it  was  our  affair,  and  if  we  were  frozen — .  As  a  matter 
of  fact  the  extreme  cold  woke  me  up  about  four  in  the 
morning.  The  stove  had  long  gone  out,  and  I  was 
chilled  in  spite  of  my  heavy  sleeping  bag. 

The  two  young  girls,  "  Sestras,"  voluntary  workers 
who  looked  after  our  household  for  the  first  few  days, 
we  found  some  difficulty  in  placing.  Apparently  they 
were  not  servants,  nor  were  they  nurses.  They  made 
friends   rapidly   with   our   orderlies   by   the   universal 


SKOPLJE  29 

language  of  signs,  smiles,  and  eyebrows,  but  seemed 
rather  in  awe  of  the  surgeons.  One  of  them,  who  came 
from  Belgrade  spoke  German  fluently,  and  said  her 
brother  was  an  officer.  It  was  all  rather  puzzling  to  us 
at  first,  until  we  found  that  there  were  practically  no 
class  distinctions  in  the  country.  The  people  are  a  race 
of  yeomen  farmers.  There  is  no  landed  gentry,  no  here- 
ditary titled  class.  The  General  may  have  a  brother 
fighting  in  the  ranks.  The  father  of  the  Prime  Minister, 
the  Prime  Minister  himself,  may  be  a  peasant.  The 
Ambassador  to  a  foreign  court  may  have  a  brother  a 
small  shopkeeper.  Possibly  this  freedom  from  class  dis- 
tinctions may  be  due  to  long  association  with  the  Turks, 
amongst  whom  hereditary  rank  is  practically  unknown. 
More  probably,  however,  it  has  come  about  owing  to  the 
repression  of  centuries  making  it  impossible  for  any 
Christian  aristocratic  class  to  maintain  itself.  What- 
ever may  be  the  explanation,  the  fact  remains  that 
Serbia  is  a  democratic  country  in  every  sense  of  the 
term. 

Where  these  "  sestras  "  slept  did  not  occur  to  us  as  a 
problem — we  were  not  yet  aware  of  the  tremendous  con- 
gestion due  to  the  presence  of  thousands  of  refugees  in 
the  town — till  one  night  on  going  late  into  the  mess 
room  I  found  them  sleeping  wrapped  up  in  rugs  on  the 
floor,  with  Ike  and  another  Serb  whom  we  came 
afterwards  to  call  the  "  White  Rabbit  "  also  asleep  in 
the  far  corner.  This  distressed  us  very  much,  but 
apparently  had  not  discomposed  them  in  the  least. 
They  did  not  seem  to  mind,  and  as  they  left  us  the  next 
day  we  had  not  to  trouble  further.  It  was  the  same 
everywhere  we  found.  People  slept  where  they  could, 
not  where  they  wanted  to ;  and  these  girls  were  refugees, 
glad  to  sleep  anywhere  where  it  was  warm,  like  many 
thousands  of  others  equally  gently  born.  But  to  return. 
Last  and  most  important  in  our  entourage  was  "  Ike," 
our  dragoman  and  general  factotum  for  months.  None 
of  us,  I  think,  ever  liked  him.     None  of  us  trusted  him. 


30  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Steve,  to  my  mind,  summed  him  up  concisely  when  he 
remarked : 

"  Say,  Father.  That's  a  mighty  foxy  duck.  Guess 
he's  a  bad  actor." 

He  certainly  was  a  foxy  duck.  The  term  fitted  him 
like  a  glove,  for  with  his  dark  oval  cunning  face  under  a 
grey  Serbian  cap,  his  black  cut-away  coat  encasing  a 
lithe  sinuous  body,  his  long  thin  legs  swathed  in  grey 
puttees,  he  looked  for  all  the  world  like  some  composite 
predatory  animal.  By  nationality  he  was  a  Hungarian. 
He  had  been  for  years  in  the  United  States.  Before  the 
war  he  had  acted  in  some  capacity  for  an  English  rail- 
way contracting  company  in  Belgrade.  Although  he 
had  married  a  Serbian  wife  and  said  he  was  an  American 
citizen,  as  soon  as  war  broke  out  he  was  interned.  How 
he  got  released  was  not  quite  clear,  for  he  was  still 
suspected  to  be  an  Austrian  spy,  and  was  sent  down  to 
Southern  Serbia  to  be  out  of  the  way.  He  was,  how- 
ever, a  good  business  man,  could  speak  English,  and 
it  was  thought  that  if  he  were  working  for  us  he  would 
be  usefully  employed,  and  at  the  same  time  could  be 
watched  more  easily.     So  he  became  our  dragoman. 

On  the  day  after  our  arrival,  while  our  Chief,  aided 
by  the  British  Consul,  was  having  solemn  talks  with  the 
authorities  over  our  future  activities,  we  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  wandering  through  the  picturesque  old  city, 
which  we  were  now  told  should  be  called  Skoplje  and 
not  Uskub.  Nearly  every  town  of  any  size  in  the 
Balkans,  we  found,  had  from  two  to  five  names,  and  it 
was  not  for  some  time  after  our  arrival  that  we  came  to 
understand  the  hidden  meaning  of  this  multiplicity. 
For  the  choice  of  name  for  any  place  in  certain  areas 
indicates  at  once  the  political  views  and  nationality  of 
the  person  using  it.  For  instance  the  capital  of  Turkey 
in  Europe  to  the  Mussulman  is  Istamboul,  to  the 
Christian  of  the  Balkans  it  is  Tzaregrad  (the  city  of 
Caesar),  to  the  Greek  and  people  of  the  west,  Constan- 
tinople.      Similarly,  what  is  Monastir  to  the  Turk  is 


SKOPLJE  31 

Bitolia  to  the  Serb,  and  something  else  to  the  Bulgar. 
Our  present  habitat  we  came  to  call  Skoplje  or  Uskub 
indifferently,  although  we  knew  that  Skoplje  was  the 
ancient  historical  name  of  the  city  of  Stefan  the 
Strangler,  and  Uskub  merely  a  Turkish  corruption  of 
the  sound  of  it. 

Its  position  is  picturesque  in  the  extreme,  lying  as  it 
does  on  the  banks  of  the  Vardar,  with  great  snow-clad 
hills  surrounding  it  to  the  north,  and  west  and  east. 
All  this  we  saw  in  panorama  later,  for  on  this,  our  first 
morning,  we  were  occupied  only  with  the  immediate 
surroundings.  It  had  been  raining  heavily  in  the  night, 
as  Steve  and  I  discovered  when  we  prepared  to  venture 
forth ;  and  Franz,  anticipating  things,  had  put  out  our 
rubber  top  boots  suggestively  handy.  The  courtyard 
in  front  of  our  quarters,  from  which  many  pariah  dogs 
and  two  pigs  fled  on  our  approach,  had  a  paved  path 
down  the  centre  to  the  heavy  open  gate,  and  this  was 
comparatively  clean.  But  once  outside  we  came  upon 
a  quagmire. 

Steve  looked  down  on  his  beautiful,  shining  top-boots 
regretfully. 

"  Say,  Father,"  he  said.  "  The  guy  that  told  us  to 
bring  these  '  gums  '  with  us  knew  something."  and  I 
agreed  heartily,  seeing  in  a  flash  why  in  pictures  the 
upper  classes  in  Russia  and  the  Balkans  are  always 
represented  as  living  and  moving  in  top-boots.  It  is 
not  possible  otherwise  to  get  about  in  comfort.  For  the 
mud  of  the  country  in  winter  is  something  indescribable 
to  anyone  accustomed  to  our  much  scavengered 
England.  It  is  everywhere,  thick,  black,  tenacious. 
Peasants  on  donkeys,  peasants  on  shaggy  hill  ponies, 
splash  through  it  regardless  of  passers-by.  Drivers  of 
ox-waggons  trudge  stolidly  through  it  in  sandals, 
oblivious  of  discomfort.  Everyone  is  Serbia  is  used  to 
it,  knows  no  better.  Even  we  in  our  turn,  in  the 
months  that  followed,  grew  gradually  accustomed,  and 
finally  only  passively  conscious  of  it. 


32  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

The  main  streets  of  the  city  were  supposed  to  be 
paved  with  round  cobble  stones ;  but  immemorial  ruts, 
never  mended,  made  driving  in  the  broken-down  fiacres 
that  plied  for  hire  a  gymnastic  exercise  suitable  only  to 
the  most  robust  constitution ;  and  it  was  some  weeks 
before  we  attempted  any  such  adventure. 

On  this  morning  Steve  and  I  wandered  aimlessly 
wherever  our  fancy  led  us.  There  was  a  footpath  in  the 
first  street  we  came  to,  but  it  was  so  rocky  we  soon  took 
to  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  then  we  noticed  that  all 
the  inhabitants  did  likewise.  In  the  Near  East  no 
habitue  ever  walks  on  a  footpath.  The  middle  of  the 
road  is  good  enough  for  him.  When  a  fiacre  comes 
thundering  behind  him  with  the  driver  shouting  "  Oz, 
02,  OS,"  in  reduplicated  warning,  he  looks  casually 
round,  steps  to  one  side  and  lets  it  pass.  It  is  all 
beautifully  simple.  It  is  also  effective,  for  the  curious 
thing  is  no  one  ever  seems  to  get  run  over. 

As  we  sauntered  onwards  people  stared  curiously  at 
our  uniform,  wondering  what  we  were.  Once  or  twice 
we  caught  the  word  "  Rusi  "  (Russians).  It  was  a 
frequent  mistake  until  they  got  to  know  us.  We,  on 
the  other  hand,  stared  equally  frankly  at  everyone  we 
met,  for  Uskub  is  a  curiously  cosmopolitan  place. 
Essentially  it  is  still  a  Turkish  town,  the  Serbian  leaven 
not  being  then  more  than  three  years  old ;  and,  as  in 
most  Turkish  towns,  the  various  nationalities  could 
readily  be  distinguished  from  one  another  by  their  dress, 
the  differences  in  which  lend  an  air  of  brightness  very 
marked  to  the  Western  eye. 

"  Look  at  that  queer  guy !  "  said  Steve,  inclining  his 
head  towards  a  man  approaching  us  behind  a  waggon 
loaded  with  sawn  wood,  which  creaked  lumberingly  past 
us,  drawn  by  four  huge  oxen  with  enormous  fierce-look- 
ing horns.  He  was  a  magnificent  specimen,  tall, 
swarthy,  with  a  round  white  felt  skull-cap,  a  much- 
embroidered  padded  zouave  jacket  over  a  blue  shirt, 
and  white  woollen  trousers  close  fitting  from  the  knee 


SKOPLJE  33 

downwards.  These  trousers  were  adorned  with  black 
braid  along  the  sides,  and  had  wide  openings  showing 
the  shirt  where  the  pockets  should  have  been.  His  feet 
were  encased  in  thonged  leather  sandals  over  thick 
brightly  embroidered  socks,  which  came  half  way  up  the 
leg,  over  the  trousers.  He  was  smoking  a  cigarette  in  a 
holder,  but  the  holder  was  over  two  feet  long,  had  a 
stem  adorned  with  silver  inlay,  and  a  mouth  piece, 
apparently  of  amber,  which  was  as  large  as  a  hen's  egg, 
and  more  than  half  filled  his  month.  He  passed  us  with 
a  lordly  air  of  unconcern.  Afterwards  we  came  to 
know  the  type  well.  He  was  a  prosperous  Albanian  in 
full  rig. 

The  Albanian  costume  is  so  characteristic  that  these 
people  seem  very  much  in  evidence  wherever  they  are 
found.  The  white  skull-cap  and  braided  trousers  are 
the  essentials.  Other  garments  may  vary.  The  enor- 
mous white  kilt,  white  stockings,  and  black  whiskered 
shoes,  worn  by  Southern  Albanians,  are  not  found  in 
Macedonia  outside  Salonika ;  and  indeed  when  one  comes 
across  them,  even  there,  the  owner  is  probably  a 
"  Kavasse  "  from  one  of  the  Consulates,  or  a  soldier  be- 
longing to  one  of  the  Greek  Albanian  regiments — a  con- 
dition of  affairs  not  unlike  that  which  obtains  with 
regard  to  the  kilt  in  Scotland.  In  Uskub  we  never  saw 
any  of  these  kilted  gentry,  although  the  other  variety 
was  everywhere.  They  seemed  to  run  nearly  all  the 
vegetable  and  fruit  stalls,  most  of  the  itinerant  sweet- 
meat business,  practically  all  the  farrier  work,  and 
apparently  divided  the  job  of  porter  with  low-class 
Turks  and  Tziganes. 

Steve  and  I  wandered  round,  absorbing  impressions. 
One  thing  struck  us  again  and  again :  the  apparently 
unlimited  number  of  shaving  saloons  and  small  cafes. 
The  barbers'  sign  in  the  Near  East  is  the  shaving  basin. 
It  hangs  over  every  saloon  door,  and  is  usually  a  copper 
or  brass  dish  with  a  crescent  cut  out  of  one  side,  into 
which  the  neck  of  the  customer  is  supposed  to  fit.  Many 
c 


34  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

of  the  barbers  also  seemed  to  carry  on  their  old  tradi- 
tional trade  of  teeth  extraction.  One  gifted  individual 
had  indeed  designed  and  executed  a  signboard  with  his 
name  and  occupation  limned  entirely  in  extracted 
molars,  a  silent  but  eloquent  testimony  to  his  skill 
which  must  have  appealed  powerfully  to  the  hesitat- 
ing customer.  It  was,  as  Steve  remarked,  "  Some 
sign." 

Presently,  in  the  course  of  our  wanderings,  we  came 
upon  the  river.  It  was  our  old  friend  the  Vardar,  the 
great  river  of  Macedonia,  which,  rising  in  the  watershed 
between  Skoplje  and  Nish,  runs  south  to  Salonika  and 
the  iEgean  Sea. 

At  Uskub  it  divides  the  city  into  two  parts,  that  to 
the  west,  the  new  Christian  part,  a  mushroom  growth 
due  largely  to  the  railway,  and  that  to  the  east,  the  old 
part  still  mainly  Turkish,  and  therefore  more  interest- 
ing. At  the  point  where  we  came  upon  it,  the  Vardar  is 
about  as  wide  as  the  Thames  at  Richmond ;  and  here  it 
is  crossed  by  a  very  beautiful  grey  stone  bridge  of  eight 
arches  sloping  gracefully  towards  either  end.  The  Serbs 
call  it  the  bridge  of  Tzar  Dushan,  in  memory  of  their 
great  king  Stefan  the  Strangler,  who,  after  defeating  the 
Hungarians,  Bulgars,  and  even  threatening  the  sacred 
city  of  the  Paleologi  itself,  united  under  his  sway  all 
Bosnia,  Serbia,  Macedonia  and  Albania. 

It  was  in  the  fortress  of  Uskub,  which  is  so  prominent 
an  object  from  the  bridge  we  have  been  describing,  that 
he  had  himself  crowned  Emperor  of  the  Serbians.  He 
is  the  great  outstanding  figure  in  Serbian  history  in  the 
middle  ages ;  and  it  is  little  wonder,  therefore,  that  when 
the  Serbians  captured  Uskub  after  the  battle  of 
Kumanovo,  they  called  the  bridge  after  his  name. 

All  this  is  very  ancient  history,  for  Dushan  died  at 
Deabolis  in  Albania  in  1356  a.d.  But  ancient  history 
has  sometimes  a  way  of  becoming  suddenly  important 
modern  history ;  and  this  is  a  case  in  point.  The  fame 
of  Stefan  Dushan  has  been  kept  green  in  the  memory  of 


SKOPLJE  36 

the  Serbian  peasant  by  legendary  tales,  told  by  the 
wood  fire  in  the  winter,  and  by  heroic  songs  and  poems 
recited  and  sung  by  itinerant  bards  at  fairs  and  festivals 
in  the  summer,  throughout  all  the  long  centuries  during 
which  the  people  have  groaned  under  the  Turkish  yoke ; 
and  thus  Stefan  is  as  real  a  figure  to-day  to  the  Serbs  as 
the  late  King  Peter. 

The  bridge  Steve  and  I  crossed  that  afternoon,  may 
or  may  not  have  been  built  by  Stefan — probably  not; 
but  the  Serbs  never  forgot  that  he  had  been  crowned  in 
the  Citadel  above,  and  always  looked  upon  Northern 
Macedonia,  in  consequence,  as  part  of  ancient  Serbia,  to 
be  redeemed,  when  opportunity  arose  again,  from  the 
hated  Turk.  The  opportunity  came  in  1912  when, 
utterly  routed  at  Kumanovo  thirty  miles  away,  the 
Turks  poured  panic  stricken  through  Uskub,  abandon- 
ing this,  the  only  strategic  point  between  them  and 
Salonika,  without  a  blow. 

This  is  what  we  heard  from  the  Serbs.  But  there  is 
another  side,  another  claimant — the  Bulgar.  He  too 
has  ancient  memories  of  kings  in  Uskub,  more  ancient 
still  than  the  Serb.  And  he  maintains  stoutly  that  the 
population  there  is  Bulgar  to  this  day.  In  the  time  of 
the  Turk,  both  nations  carried  on  a  fierce  propaganda. 
There  was  a  Serbian  Bishop  of  the  Orthodox  Church. 
There  was  also  a  Bulgarian  Bishop  of  the  Exarch 
Church.  Both  nations  maintained  schools  for  the 
children  of  their  adherents ;  and  so  the  fight  went  on. 
The  bridge  of  Tzar  Dushan  may  therefore  be  looked 
upon  as  typifying  the  real  trouble  of  the  Balkans,  the 
question  of  Serb  versus  Bulgar,  the  overlapping  aspira- 
tions of  two  intensely  patriotic  people. 

At  the  time  we  were  there  the  Serb  was  in  the 
ascendant.  After  we  left  the  Bulgar  came  into 
possession.  Then  the  fortune  of  war  once  more  went 
against  him,  and  now  Uskub  is  Serbian  again. 

When  we  first  saw  it,  however,  on  that  pleasant 
November   morning   it   was   just   a   bridge    to    us,    a 


36  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

picturesque  old  grey  bridge  which  lay  below  and  to  the 
right  of  the  Citadel — a  huge  imposing  old  fortress  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  with  yellow-white  battlemented 
walls  high  up  in  the  sunlight,  against  a  sky  of  ultra- 
marine as  one  gazed  upwards. 

The  bridge  was  the  common  meeting  place  of  all  the 
heterogeneous  races  which  made  up  the  population  of 
the  place.  Turks,  Albanians,  Serbs,  Bulgars,  Tziganes, 
Jews,  Vlachs  and  Greeks  passed  and  repassed,  in  an 
endless  kaleidoscope  which  looked  tricked  out  for  effect 
to  us,  yet  had  the  mental  charm  of  being  absolutely 
commonplace  to  the  inhabitants. 

When  Steve  and  I  crossed  over  we  felt  we  had  passed 
into  the  East  at  once.  The  streets  became  narrower, 
more  winding,  if  possible  more  uneven ;  the  passers-by 
became  less  European.  LTnexpected  vistas,  around 
queer  jutting  angles  of  dead  walls,  overhung  by  occa- 
sional latticed  windows  adjoining  carefully  grilled  and 
bolted  doorways,  always  with  the  slender  spire  of  some 
minaret  in  the  background,  kept  appearing  and  passing 
before  us.  Women  in  the  loose  black  shapeless  gar- 
ments of  the  Mohammedan,  their  faces  and  hair  closely 
veiled  in  the  old-fashioned  white  yashmak,  moved 
quietly  round  corners  and  disappeared.  Grave  tur- 
baned  Turks,  eagle-featured,  stalked  past  us,  politely 
unconscious  of  the  presence  of  the  infidel.  Occasionally 
a  donkey,  laden  with  charcoal  strapped  on  a 
packsaddle,  driven  by  a  peasant  from  the  mountains, 
would  block  the  entire  alleyway  forcing  us  to  the 
wall. 

We  found  ourselves  in  a  street  where  all  the  workers 
were  wood  carvers,  caught  glimpses  of  others  where 
they  were  weavers,  tinsmiths,  blacksmiths,  ropemakers. 
We  had  heard  there  was  one  of  working  jewellers  in 
silver  filigree  but  could  not  find  it,  nor  that  of  the 
copper-smiths,  at  first.  In  these  streets  every  man 
worked  at  his  trade  in  an  open-fronted  shop.  We 
stopped   whenever   we   felt   inclined,    walked   in   and 


SKOPLJE  37 

watched.  Sometimes  the  worker  would  look  up  to  see 
if  we  wished  to  purchase  any  of  the  completed  articles ; 
but  more  often  he  kept  on  busily,  taking  no  notice  of 
the  intrusion. 

Turning  round  a  corner  we  saw  against  the  sky 
the  outline  of  a  large  domed  building  of  beautiful  old 
red  brick-work,  picked  out  in  a  design  of  interlaced  blue 
tiles.  Moss  and  stonewort  grew  over  the  ruined  dome. 
A  muddy  narrow  passage  wound  down  to  a  hole  in  the 
side,  where  once  there  had  been  a  door ;  and  picking  our 
steps  we  wandered  within,  attracted  by  the  metallic 
sound  of  anvil  hammering.  Even  in  decay  we  could  see 
what  a  beautiful  building  it  must  once  have  been — the 
great  dome,  star-pierced  at  intervals,  swept  up  so 
superbly  from  the  four  supporting  walls.  Once  it  had 
been  the  cooling  room  of  a  great  Hammam,  where  ladies 
of  the  harems  of  long  dead  Pashas  had  gossiped,  lying 
languorously,  fanned  by  Nubian  slaves,  on  the  divans 
around  the  walls  through  sultry  afternoons.  Now  it 
was  a  shoeing  smithy  tenanted  by  grimy  Albanians.  In 
one  corner  a  blacksmith,  sitting  crosslegged,  was 
fashioning  horseshoes  of  sheet  iron  over  his  charcoal  fire. 
In  another,  opposite,  a  nailer  was  making  nails.  Lined 
along  the  walls  were  a  number  of  rough  mountain 
ponies,  with  packsaddles,  who  kicked  viciously  every 
time  anyone  approached  near  them.  No  one  took  any 
notice  of  us,  so  we  wandered  round  finding  our  way  into 
the  old  bath  rooms,  massage  rooms,  depilatoria,  clam- 
bering over  fallen  bricks,  under  low  archways,  along 
dark  ruinous  passages,  until  suddenly  we  found  our- 
selves in  the  daylight  again,  where  the  roof  of  one  of 
the  domes  had  fallen  in.  Climbing  over  a  brick  wall 
we  debouched  on  the  street  of  the  wheelwrights,  grave 
turbaned  men  sitting  cross-legged,  using  the  old 
fashioned  tenon-saw  and  adze  one  used  to  see  coloured 
pictures  of  in  old  family  Bibles.  Now  I  remembered, 
and  whenever  we  stopped  to  look  on  I  gave  the 
courteous  Eastern  salutation  "  Peace  be  with  thee." 


345648 


38  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

For  a  moment  the  grave  brown  eyes  of  the  master 
carpenter  would  look  up.  '*  And  to  thee  peace  "  he 
would  answer,  quietly  resuming  his  occupation. 

Round  and  about  we  wandered.  We  came  again  on 
the  streets  of  trades,  makers  of  saddle-bags,  cord- 
wainers,  potters,  blacksmiths  shoeing  the  cloven  hoofs 
of  oxen — everyone  busy  at  his  occupation.  We  were 
deep  in  the  Turkish  quarter,  and  had  lost  all  sense  of 
direction.  But  we  knew  that  if  we  kept  working  west- 
ward we  were  sure  eventually  to  strike  the  Vardar,  and 
find  the  bridge,  so  we  wandered  on  happily. 

It  was  all  particularly  new  and  fascinating  to  Steve. 

"  I  have  a  hunch  this  would  look  mighty  odd  in 
Portland,  Oregon,"  he  said. 

At  the  time  we  were  watching  three  men  spinning 
whipcord.  The  motive  power  working  the  spindles  was 
produced  by  the  operatives  walking  backwards,  each 
with  a  rope  round  his  waist  which,  unwinding  as  he 
pulled  on  it,  rotated  the  pulley  of  the  spindle  whilst  his 
fingers  wove  the  strands  infinitely  delicately.  The 
simplicity  of  it  associated  with  the  beautiful  results  in 
the  plaited  cord  struck  us  very  much. 

"  I  call  that  some  stunt,"  said  Steve  enthusiastically. 

When  we  got  back  to  our  quarters  it  was  lunch  time ; 
and  now  we  began  to  find  that  many  of  the  things  we 
looked  upon  almost  as  necessaries  were  unobtainable. 
To  our  questions  Ike,  who  was  in  charge  of  the 
commissariat,  had  one  invariable  reply  : 

"  Ain't  got  none." 

There  was  no  butter,  no  cheese,  no  biscuits,  no  jam, 
no  forks,  no  teaspoons,  no  cups,  and  so  on.  The 
number  of  things  we  hadn't  got  was  quite  wonderful. 
None  of  us  had  any  previous  idea  we  needed  so  much 
impedimenta.  Let  me  remind  you  it  was  the  first  three 
months  of  the  war,  and  none  of  us  had  yet  learnt  how 
little  really  was  required  for  comfort. 

Our  Serbian  cook,  we  found,   was  an  amateur  of 


SKOPLJE  39 

remarkably   constricted   ideas.       Our   two   ''  sestras  " 
were  willing  but  incompetent. 

Luckily  we  had  taken  the  precaution  to  engage  a 
Maltese  cook  on  the  way  through. 

"  When  Charlie  gets  the  kitchen  to  himself  we  shall 
be  all  right,"  said  the  Chief,  and  everyone  agreed, 
cheerfully. 

After  lunch  we  gravitated  mutually  to  the  "  Salon  " 
— the  name  we  had  given  to  the  room  occupied  by  Steve 
and  Stretton.  It  was  the  largest  room  in  the  house, 
and  had  a  splendid  roaring  stove  around  which  there 
was  ample  room  to  circle  our  camp  chairs. 

The  Chief  began  by  telling  us  how  he  had  been 
wandering  round  looking  at  the  various  places  available 
as  improvised  hospitals.  It  seemed  that  the  Paget  unit, 
which  had  arrived  nearly  a  week  in  front  of  us,  had 
appropriated  the  "  Gymnasium,"  a  fine  block  of  build- 
ings used  formerly  as  a  technical  school,  and  capable  of 
accommodating  three  hundred  beds.  Previous  to  their 
arrival  the  Serbs  had  managed  to  overcrowd  some  five 
hundred  patients  into  it.  The  first  thing  the  English 
unit  had  done  was  to  insist  on  all  the  patients  being 
evacuated  and  on  having  the  whole  place  cleaned  out, 
in  order  that  new  beds,  linen,  and  ward  equipment  could 
be  introduced,  proper  sanitary  arrangements  made,  an 
operating  theatre  set  up — in  fact  all  the  essentials  of 
a  fully  equipped  English  Hospital  provided.  Already 
they  had  been  almost  a  week  busily  engaged  with  their 
ample  equipment,  their  full  staff  of  nurses,  orderlies, 
surgeons,  getting  things  in  order.  It  looked  as  though 
they  would  be  another  fortnight  before  they  were  ready 
to  start.  And  all  the  while  thousands  of  wounded  were 
pouring  daily  into  the  town,  weary,  footsore,  undressed, 
overwhelming  the  hospitals  already  established.  At 
this  time  the  Serbs  were  retreating  daily  before  the 
Austrians,  fighting  savagely,  hopelessly,  against  over- 
whelming odds,  short  of  small-arm  ammunition,  prac- 
tically without  shells.     And  as  they  retreated  the  hos- 


40  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

pitals  in  Northern  Serbia  were  being  hastily  evacuated, 
trainload  after  trainload  of  maimed  helpless  wrecks, 
undressed,  untreated,  in  battered  uniforms  were  being 
dumped  anywhere,  wherever  there  was  anything  like  a 
hospital.  Nish  was  so  overcrowded  the  wounded  were 
lying  uncared  for  in  the  streets ;  and  as  fast  as  they 
could  be  sent  back  they  were  being  pushed  on  here,  to 
Veles,  to  Ghevgeli,  even  to  Monastir,  through  Greece. 
It  was  a  horrible  condition  of  affairs. 

Whilst  Steve  and  I  had  been  sightseeing,  Barclay  had 
been  up  at  the  "  Number  One  Hospital "  in  the 
Fortress ;  and  the  sights  he  had  seen  there  had  set  him 
itching  to  begin.  There  were  three  men  to  every  two 
beds,  pushed  side  to  side.  The  beds  were  for  the  serious 
cases  only.  The  rest  had  no  beds.  They  slept  any- 
where— in  the  corridors,  in  the  neighbouring  mosque, 
in  cafes  round,  in  stables — anywhere.  There  was  no 
room,  and  still  they  kept  coming.  The  "  Sanitary 
Trains  "  arrived  at  intervals  from  two  in  the  morning 
onwards,  full  of  sick  and  wounded.  That  afternoon  we 
watched  such  a  trainload  arrive.  At  the  station  all  the 
available  fiacres,  decrepit  structures  drawn  by  equally 
forlorn  horses,  awaited  them.  Into  the  fiacres  the 
silent  wounded  were  packed — we  noticed  how  silent 
they  were — still  in  their  dirty  torn  uniforms,  with  their 
filthy  first  field  dressings,  gaunt,  hollow  eyed,  absolutely 
apathetic.  And  then  the  long  procession  started 
through  the  winding  streets,  bumping  over  the  impos- 
sible pavements,  to  improvised  hospitals,  already  over- 
crowded, already  unable  even  to  house  them. 

Such  being  briefly  the  condition  of  affairs,  we  were 
all  very  anxious  to  know  what  the  authorities  proposed 
doing  with  us,  and  what  sort  of  arrangements  were  being 
made  to  turn  us  to  immediate  use.  Apparently  there 
was  no  idea  of  attaching  us  to  a  Field  unit,  our  civilian 
status,  our  want  of  training  in  military  matters,  our 
ignorance  of  the  language  being  insuperable  barriers. 
What  they  wanted  us  to  do  was  to  run  a  Hospital. 


SKOPLJE  41 

It  seemed  we  had  the  choice  of  three  buildings,  all 
close  together,  and  just  behind  our  quarters.  These 
had  originally  been  storehouses  for  tobacco  in  the  old 
days  of  the  Turkish  Regie,  and  were  large  brick-built 
factory-like  structures.  The  largest,  "  Number  One," 
had  space  accommodation  for  six  hundred  beds;  the 
other  two  for  approximately  three  hundred  each. 
"  Number  One  "  had  three  great  floors,  each  contain- 
ing two  hundred  beds.  It  was  lit  feebly  with  a  few 
electric  lights  on  each  floor ;  but  there  was  no  water  of 
any  sort  laid  on,  and  absolutely  no  inside  sanitary 
accommodation.  The  other  two  smaller  buildings  had 
water  taps  on  each  floor,  but  no  lighting  arrangements, 
and  no  sanitary  accommodation.  There  was  no  place  in 
any  of  the  three  buildings  which  could  be  used  as  an 
operating  theatre. 

None  of  the  buildings  suggested  impressed  our  Chief 
favourably.  To  have  hundreds  of  patients,  many  bed- 
ridden, in  a  huge  building  without  any  water  supply, 
and  with  only  outside  latrines  was  not  what  one  would 
call  an  ideal  situation,  and  he  naturally  demurred ;  but 
he  gave  us  to  understand  that  he  was  being  pressed 
greatly  by  the  authorities  to  take  over  at  least  one  of 
the  buildings,  preferably  the  largest. 

The  fact  that  the  other  English  unit,  seventy  strong, 
fully  equipped  with  stores,  and  with  a  full  complement 
of  trained  nurses,  felt  themselves  capable  of  handling 
less  than  three  hundred  beds,  ought  to  have  made  us 
pause.  The  suggestion  that  we,  six  surgeons  and 
twelve  orderlies,  with  only  the  equipment  of  a  regi- 
mental medical  officer,  should  undertake  to  run  a  hos- 
pital almost  as  large  as  St.  Thomas',  and  twice  as  large 
as  that  taken  over  by  the  other  unit,  ought  to  have 
filled  us  with  misgiving. 

It  didn't.  We  had  seen  the  awful  need.  We  had 
been  three  weeks  idle  on  the  way  out.  We  had  been 
one  whole  day  in  the  place ;  and  we  were  itching  to 
begin.     What  did  we  care  about  an  operating  theatre ; 


42  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

that  could  be  arranged  later.  We  wanted  to  start. 
We  wanted  to  get  at  the  awful  foul  bandages,  and 
change  them.  We  wanted  to  lend  a  hand  at  once, 
helping  to  alleviate  the  over-pressure  existing  in  all  the 
hospitals  run  on  Serbian  lines.  When  we  discovered 
that  one  intrepid  little  Russian  lady  doctor  was  trying 
to  run  the  huge  No.  1  building  by  herself,  helped  by 
untrained  Serbian  "  sestras  "  and  "  bolnitchers  " 
(male  orderlies),  we  practically  got  out  of  hand  and 
stampeded  our  Chief. 

At  anyrate  he  yielded,  probably  against  his  better 
judgment,  no  doubt  feeling  exactly  as  we  did  ourselves, 
though  unable  to  admit  it  without  a  reservation.  It 
was  decided  unanimously,  therefore,  that  we  should 
make  a  start  at  the  "  Number  One  "  Hospital  as  soon 
as  we  could  take  over. 

Everyone  felt  relieved  and  happy.  After  dinner  that 
night  we  gravitated  to  the  "  Salon,"  and  circled  in  our 
camp  chairs  round  the  roaring  wood  fire,  feeling  con- 
tent with  all  the  world.  Steve  produced  his  mouth 
organ,  procured  with  much  difficulty  at  Malta,  and 
regaled  us  with  rag-time  tunes  and  nigger  melodies. 
We  had  sorted  out  our  kit,  and  put  things  handy  for 
the  morrow.  Already  our  quarters  felt  like  home. 
Our  men  too  had  caught  the  same  impression. 
Several  of  them  came  from  the  potteries,  and  we  could 
hear  them  now  singing  part-songs  in  their  dormitory. 
It  is  a  happy  augury  when  you  hear  your  men  singing. 
Drilling  and  lecturing  them  daily  on  the  way  out,  we 
had  got  to  know  them  fairly  well,  and  were  confident 
we  could  rely  upon  them  in  any  emergency  in  this 
strange  country.  Presently  they  quieted  down.  Soon 
we  too  began  to  feel  sleepy,  and  each  commenced  to 
gravitate  to  his  quarters. 

Barclay  and  I  took  a  turn  in  the  courtyard  before 
turning  in.  The  night  was  very  cold.  There  was  a 
light  powder  of  snow  upon  the  ground.  A  sickle  moon 
rode  high  amongst  hurrying  clouds.     In  the  distance  we 


SKOPLJE  43 

could  hear  the  howling  of  a  pariah  dog.     Away  over, 

on  the  high  dark  mountain  side  on  the  left,  we  watched 

a  flashlight  winking  messages  across  to  the  hills  on  the 

east,  over  the  sleeping  town. 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  we  shall  be  happy  here." 

"  Yes.       If  the  Austrians  don't  sweep  down,  and 

drive  us  out  before  we  can  begin,"  answered  Barclay. 
Neither  of  us  thought  of  an  even  more  deadly  enemy. 

But  if  we  had,  I  think  we  would  still  have  taken  the 

course  that  we  did. 


CHAPTER  III 
COMMENCING  WORK 

Looking  round  for  work — Serbian  Surgery — How  we  discovered  the 
Little  Red  Woman — Austrian  prisoners — Our  hospital  and  its 
deficiencies — The  sudden  departure  of  our  "  Sanitary  Depart- 
ment "  ably  assisted  by  boots — "  Bolnitchers  "  and  "  Sestras  " — 
A  challenge  in  the  night — Charlie  the  Cook— Operations — The 
grim  decision  of  Stephan  Vassalovitch — How  Steve  persuaded  the 
little  Red  Woman. 

A  S  the  result  of  our  decision  to  start  work  as  soon 
/  %  as  possible,  our  Chief,  accompanied  by  the 
X  jL.  British  Consul,  paid  a  formal  call  on  the  Serbian 
Commandant  who  was  to  have  administrative  charge 
of  our  Hospital,  and  discussed  the  preliminary  arrange- 
ments which  would  be  necessary.  Barclay  was  orderly 
officer  for  the  day,  and,  under  his  guidance,  our  men 
were  set  to  work  digging  latrines  in  the  garden  behind 
our  quarters,  for  we  had  come  up  at  once  against  the 
great  difficulty  encountered  by  English  people  in  the 
Levant — the  total  absence  of  anything  like  the  most 
elementary  sanitary  arrangements;  and  this,  coupled 
with  the  fact  that  the  water  was  unsafe  to  drink,  was  a 
matter  which  had  to  be  attended  to  at  once,  in  order  to 
safeguard  the  health  of  the  Unit  on  which  the  entire 
success  of  our  Mission  depended. 

Finding  that  Stretton  and  Sherlock  had  gone  off  on  a 
tour  of  inspection  by  themselves,  Steve  and  I  decided 
we  had  better  visit  the  Military  Hospital  in  the  fortress, 
to  see  how  the  Serbian  surgeons  treated  their  cases. 
Wandering  over  the  bridge  and  up  the  main  street  of 
the  old  town,  we  came  upon  a  building  into  which 
patients  were  being  carried  on  stretchers,  and  concluded 

44 


COMMENCING  WORK  45 

this  must  be  the  place.  A  sentinel  with  fixed  bayonet 
stared  at  us  from  the  archway,  but  made  no  move  to 
stop  us.  Wandering  up  a  stone  staircase,  we  found 
ourselves  in  a  long  corridor  lined  with  mattresses  on 
which  men  in  muddy  uniforms  were  lying  anyhow,  more 
or  less  covered  with  army  blankets. 

We  tried  to  talk  with  someone  in  a  long  white  coat, 
evidently  a  doctor,  but  it  was  useless.  Presently  he 
brought  along  a  fresh-faced  youth  of  about  eighteen  in 
Austrian  uniform  who  could  talk  a  little  French,  and 
we  then  found  we  were  in  a  Greek  Hospital  where  most 
of  the  cases  were  typhoid,  relapsing  fever  and  other 
medical  ailments.  The  boy  informed  us  he  was  a 
prisoner,  a  medical  student  from  Prague.  Then  a 
Swiss  woman  doctor  came  along  and  explained  that  the 
hospital  for  which  we  were  looking  was  on  the  opposite 
side,  in  the  "  Grad,"  the  old  Turkish  fortress  which 
overlooked  the  river. 

Making  our  apologies  we  left.  At  the  "  Grad  "  we 
found  a  very  military  person  in  charge,  blue  and  gold 
uniform,  peaked  Serbian  cap,  boots  and  spurs  complete. 
He  was  a  Major  in  the  Serbian  Army  Medical  Corps, 
and,  it  was  soon  obvious  to  us,  was  a  first-class  surgeon. 

There  had  been  fierce  fighting  along  the  Kolubara, 
and  the  wounded  were  arriving  in  hundreds  from  Nish 
by  the  Sanitary  train  which  had  just  come  in.  As 
they  were  admitted  their  great  coats  and  accoutrements 
were  made  up  in  bundles,  labelled,  and  piled  in  rows. 
Then  the  patients  walked,  or  were  carried  on  stretchers, 
into  a  long  room  crowded  with  hundreds  already  waiting 
to  be  dressed.  Each  new  patient  came,  or  was  brought, 
to  one  of  half  a  dozen  operating  tables  to  be  examined ; 
the  field  dressing  was  taken  off,  and  the  wounds  cleaned 
up  by  one  or  other  of  the  assistants.  Then  the  Major 
came  along,  and  a  rapid  diagnosis  was  made.  Some- 
times he  would  pass  on  quickly,  sometimes  stop  and 
ask  a  question.  Every  now  and  again  he  would  run  his 
fingers  over  an  arm,  leg  or  chest,  feel  a  bullet  or  a 


46  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

piece  of  shrapnel,  grip  it  between  his  fingers,  and  with 
a  rapid  cut  of  the  knife  turn  it  out  without  bothering 
about  any  anaesthetic.  It  was  fierce,  rapid,  mediaeval 
surgery;  and  the  patients  stood  it  without  even  a 
murmur.  They  were  all  so  quiet,  so  apathetic,  so  very 
tired. 

I  asked  the  Major  if  he  had  no  chloroform.  He  stared 
at  me  a  moment,  then  his  brows  cleared. 

"  But  yes.  There  is  chloroform,  only  we  have  not 
time  to  use  it,"  he  said,  skilfully  extracting  another 
bullet  which  he  dropped  with  a  metallic  clatter  into  a 
basin  carried  behind  him  by  an  expectant  orderly. 

By  now  Steve  and  I  had  seen  enough.  We  returned 
slowly  to  our  quarters  rather  quiet  and  depressed.  It 
was  obvious  the  amount  of  work  to  be  done  was  over- 
whelming. But  how  we  were  going  to  tackle  it,  how 
we  were  going  to  surmount  the  difficulties  of  language, 
how  we  could  ever  hope  to  do  anything  like  an  aseptic 
operation  in  this  sea  of  pus — all  these  difficulties  loomed 
enormous  before  us. 

"  Guess,  Father,  we've  got  to  wade  right  in,"  said 
Steve.     *'  But  it's  a  tough  proposition." 

When  we  got  back  we  found  that  Stretton  and 
Barclay  had  been  over  at  our  new  hospital,  doing  dress- 
ings, and  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  Russian  lady 
doctor.  They  were  bubbling  over  with  enthusiasm,  for 
they  had  been  working  whilst  we  had  been  merely  look- 
ing on. 

"  That  little  red-headed  woman  is  a  marvel,"  said 
Barclay.  "  The  way  she  handles  the  awful  crowd  is 
wonderful.  She's  been  at  it  since  eight  this  morning. 
She's  been  up  twice  in  the  night.  She's  going  to  carry 
on  all  afternoon.  And  do  you  know  what's  worrying 
her  most?  You'd  never  guess.  She's  afraid  we'll 
take  the  place  from  her.  Good  Lord !  To  think 
of  it." 
Then  Stretton  chimed  in. 
"  She  speaks  English,  French,  German,  Russian  and 


COMMENCING  WORK  47 

Serbian.  She's  twenty-two  years  of  age.  She's  been 
at  this  awful  game  for  two  months  single  handed ;  and 
she's  as  keen  as  mustard.  I  vote  we  insist  on  hanging 
on  to  her.  She  wants  to  work  with  us.  She's  awfully 
funky  the  Chief  will  insist  on  turning  her  out.  Let's 
insist  on  having  her.  If  it  were  only  to  interpret  she'd 
be  worth  her  weight  in  gold." 

The  thought  of  this  heroic  little  woman  over  at  the 
Hospital,  struggling  alone  all  afternoon,  kept  worrying 
us  throughout  lunch.  Officially  we  were  not  yet  in 
possession,  but  there  was  no  reason  why  we  should  not 
give  her  a  hand  until  we  were.  Accordingly  the  five  of 
us  strolled  over  after  lunch.  The  building  was  just  at 
the  end  of  our  garden,  over  the  road.  A  red  cross  flag 
flew  over  the  gateway,  underneath  which  in  Serbian 
characters  was  a  large  sign  : — 

"  Chetire  Reserba  Bolnitza,"  which  meant  4th 
Reserve  Hospital,  a  term  with  which  we  were  destined 
to  become  only  too  familiar.  Inside  was  a  gravelled 
yard  in  which  a  number  of  slouching  men  in  untidy  blue- 
grey  uniforms  were  sawing  logs  for  firewood,  or  carrying 
cans  of  water  from  a  tap  in  the  middle  of  the  yard. 
Their  fair  hair  and  mild  blue  eyes  proclaimed  at  once 
their  Saxon  origin.  It  was  our  first  encounter  with  the 
Austrian  prisoner  of  war  who  was  to  be  such  a  familiar 
object  to  us  later,  and  we  stared  at  the  group  curiously 
as  they  came  uneasily  to  the  salute  on  our  entry.  Here 
were  new  masters,  probably  Russians,  was  their 
thought;  and  they  wondered  dully  how  we  were  likely 
to  treat  them.  Some  of  them  looked  healthy  enough, 
but  most  seemed  underfed  and  languid.  Even  in  this 
mild  November  weather  they  wore  their  heavy  service 
overcoats,  for  fear  they  should  be  stolen.  Some  of 
them  had  boots,  more  or  less  dilapidated.  The  rest 
wore  Serbian  sandals,  their  boots  having  disappeared. 
It  was  difficult  not  to  feel  sorry  for  them,  prisoners  in  a 
strange  country,  fighting  in  a  cause  for  which  they  had 
no  heart.     The  roughly  clad  Serbian  guard  with  fixed 


48  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

bayonet  in  charge  of  the  gang,  a  patriot  to  his  finger- 
tips, looked  on  at  them  with  contemplative  indifference. 
He  had  a  cause  for  which  he  was  content  to  die.  That 
was  the  distinction. 

The  Hospital  was  a  huge  tobaccco  store,  250  by  40 
feet,  with  a  cemented  basement,  and  three  wooden 
floors  above,  connected  by  rough  staircases  at  either 
end.  The  ground  floor,  along  one  side,  was  piled  high 
with  bundles  of  clothing  tied  with  rope,  which  repre- 
sented the  belongings  of  the  patients  on  the  floors 
above.  Close  to  these  were  some  five  or  six  bodies 
wrapped  in  sheets,  the  dead  of  the  night  before.  At 
the  rear  end  a  portion  had  been  boarded  off.  This  was 
the  "  magazin  "  or  hospital  store  house. 

We  climbed  the  end  staircase  to  the  first  floor.  It 
ran  the  full  length  of  the  building,  and  there  were  two 
hundred  beds  in  it,  all  occupied.  Not  a  window  was 
open,  and  the  smell  struck  us  almost  with  a  physical 
impact.  We  climbed  to  the  second  floor.  It  was  a 
replica  of  the  first.  The  men  lay  in  the  beds,  clothed 
mostly  in  the  uniform  they  wore  on  admission.  Three 
or  four  wood-burning  stoves  gave  a  feeble  heat  down 
the  centre  of  the  immense  ward.  About  these  stoves 
such  patients  as  were  able  to  crawl  congregated  for  heat, 
and  everyone  who  could  do  so  was  smoking,  even  the 
men  in  bed  had  cigarettes  between  their  lips.  Seeing 
that  all  the  internal  fittings  were  of  wood,  and  that  there 
were  absolutely  no  precautions  against  fire,  this  struck 
us  as  a  particularly  casual  arrangement.  Afterwards 
we  tried  to  improve  matters  by  refusing  to  allow 
patients  to  smoke  in  bed,  or  during  the  night ;  but  when 
our  backs  were  turned  we  knew  they  recommenced 
again;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  their  pleasures  were  so 
few  we  never  had  the  heart  to  get  angry.  Living  in  a 
country  where  everything  is  left  to  chance,  we  too  grew 
careless  in  time;  and  luckily  during  our  stay  nothing 
occurred  to  make  us  regret  it.  But  the  thought  of  what 
would  have  happened  to  several  hundred  bedridden 


COMMENCING  WORK  49 

men  if  there  had  been  a  fire  makes  me  have  cold  shivers 
still. 

The  third  floor  was  slightly  different  from  the  others. 
Its  ceiling  was  much  higher;  and  it  had  three  long 
French  windows  in  the  west  gable  which  gave  quite  a 
good  light  at  that  end.  It  was  there  all  the  dressings 
were  done ;  and  it  was  there  also  we  found  the  activities 
of  the  hospital  in  evidence.  A  space  thirty  feet  square 
had  been  left  free  of  beds ;  and  a  few  benches  were  lined 
round  this  for  the  accommodation  of  waiting  patients. 
Not  only  were  these  filled,  but  there  were  rows  and  rows 
of  wounded  standing  crowded  in  front  of  them,  making 
it  necessary  to  push  one's  way  through  the  moving  mass 
to  get  to  the  dressing  tables.  These  were  simply  wooden 
shutters  set  on  trestles.  There  were  three  of  them,  and 
cases  which  could  not  walk  were  carried  on  stretchers 
and  placed  on  them  recumbent.  When  we  arrived  all 
three  were  occupied,  and  the  little  woman  doctor,  in  a 
brown  holland  smock,  was  flitting  backwards  and 
forwards  from  one  to  the  other,  talking  volubly  all  the 
time  she  was  pushing  strips  of  iodoform  gauze,  with  a 
probe,  into  sinuses  in  arms,  and  legs  and  thighs. 

Helping  her  were  a  number  of  voluntary  workers, 
various  ladies  from  the  town,  two  first  year  medical 
students,  a  clerk  unfit  for  military  service,  an  Italian 
youth  who  was  an  electrical  engineer.  All  of  them, 
except  the  students,  were  quite  untrained ;  but  the 
pressure  was  so  great  that  they  had  been  diagnosing  and 
treating  fractures  quite  on  their  own. 

Every  patient,  after  he  had  his  dressing  finished, 
presented  his  "Leesta."  This  was  a  long  sheet  of 
paper,  like  a  "  galley  slip,"  on  which  were  the  particu- 
lars as  to  his  name  and  number,  regiment,  division,  etc., 
the  place  and  date  of  his  wound,  the  diagnosis  and 
treatment — all  in  Serbian.  It  would  have  been  more 
intelligible  to  me  if  it  had  been  in  Greek.  As  it  was, 
none  of  us  could  make  anything  of  it  at  first,  until  we 
got  to  know  what  was  essential.     We  were  constantly, 

D 


50  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

therefore,  appealing  to  the  "  Little  Red  Woman  "  for 
help  in  the  matter,  until  we  discovered  the  use  of  the 
Serbian  lieutenant  seated  at  a  table  near  one  of  the 
windows,  a  fourth  year  student  recalled  from  Moscow 
by  the  war.  He  was  the  record  secretary,  and  when  a 
new  case  came  along  his  duty  was  to  write  down  the 
diagnosis,  and  tell  the  patient  when  to  come  again. 

The  diagnosis  we  found  was  written  in  Latin.  That 
was  all  right.  But  the  dates  confused  us,  because  the 
Serb  like  the  Russian  uses  the  old  unrevised  Julian 
Calendar  which  is  some  twelve  days  behind  ours.  At 
first  we  found  it  necessary  to  think  back ;  but  soon  we 
forgot  what  date  it  really  was,  and  so  came  naturally  to 
use  the  Serbian  one. 

Somehow  or  other  we  managed  to  muddle  through 
that  first  afternoon.  Not  being  able  to  talk  to  the 
patients  made  it  rather  like  veterinary  surgery,  but  in 
most  cases  the  wounds  were  so  obvious,  and  the  things 
necessary  to  do  so  plain,  there  was  really  no  need  to 
worry  about  the  handicap  of  language. 

When  we  had  finished  dressing  a  man,  we  simply 
brought  him  to  the  secretary,  held  up  one,  two  or  three 
fingers,  and  smiled.  Lt.  Joritch  smiled  back,  and 
wrote  down  "  To  return  in  one,  two  or  three  days  "  as 
required.  Then  we  tackled  a  fresh  case  from  the  appar- 
ently inexhaustible  supply  that  kept  coming  up  the 
stairs,  and  crowding  out  the  waiting  space. 

One  of  the  advantages  that  had  been  held  out  to  us, 
as  an  inducement  to  take  over  the  hospital,  was  that  it 
was  fitted  with  electric  light.  Had  we  known  the 
country  we  would  not  have  been  influenced  by  this  at 
all ;  for  the  installation  was  of  the  poorest,  there  wasn't 
a  lamp  above  eight  candle  power  in  the  building,  and, 
to  make  things  worse,  the  current  was  in  the  habit  of 
constantly  getting  tired.  Naturally  it  failed  completely 
on  this  our  first  evening.  No  one  seemed  in  the  least 
surprised,  for  as  it  grew  dark  someone  produced  from 
somewhere  four  miserable  oil  lamps.     One  was  placed 


COMMENCING  WORK  51 

near  the  secretary,  and  one  on  each  dressing  table. 
With  these  we  struggled  on  until  dinner  time,  dressing, 
dressing,  dressing  all  the  while.  Then  we  broke  off,  not 
because  the  cases  were  finished,  but  because  we  had 
used  up  all  the  available  dressings  and  the  "  Little  Red 
Woman  "  said  all  the  urgent  cases  had  been  seen. 

It  was  a  very  tired  but  happy  group  that  assembled 
in  the  "  Salon  "  that  evening.  We  felt  we  were  in 
harness.  The  difficulty  of  the  language  had  turned 
out  not  so  formidable  as  we  had  anticipated.  The 
doubt  as  to  whether  or  not  there  would  be  enough  work 
for  us  was  completely  settled.  It  was  obvious  that  the 
immediate  crying  need  was  to  turn  ourselves  into  a 
Casualty  Clearing  Station,  to  help  to  lessen  the  pressure 
nearer  the  fighting  line  by  diagnosing,  treating  and 
clearing  back  still  further,  all  the  cases  we  could.  It 
was  equally  obvious  that  any  attempt  to  run  our  place 
on  the  lines  of  an  English  Base  Hospital,  without  nurses, 
with  only  a  ten  per  cent,  proportion  of  the  orderlies 
required,  and  with  the  totally  inadequate  stores  which 
we  knew  were  following  us  from  Salonique,  was  bound 
to  fail.  We  were  pleased,  therefore,  to  find  that  our 
Chief  was  now  concentrating  on  getting  an  operating 
theatre  equipped,  and  enough  interpreters  to  make  it 
easy  for  each  of  us  to  find  out  what  the  patients  really 
complained  of,  rather  than  on  his  former  dream  of 
having  a  properly  equipped  hospital  on  English  lines. 

The  terms  on  which  our  services  had  been  accepted  by 
the  Serbian  government  were  that  we  should  be  pro- 
vided with  lodging,  fuel  and  light,  together  with  an 
allowance  in  lieu  of  rations  of  three  dinars  (francs)  per 
diem,  in  exchange  for  our  services.  They  had  wanted 
at  first  also  to  pay  us  a  monthly  salary;  but  as  the 
British  Red  Cross  were  already  doing  this  we  did  not 
require  it.  Considering  the  poverty  of  the  country, 
even  at  the  time  it  seemed  to  us  we  were  being  treated 
very  generously;  but  when  we  came  to  discover  how 
very  straitened  the  Serbian  government  really  was,  we 


52  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

took  it  upon  ourselves  to  decline  the  ration  allowance, 
retaining  only  the  fuel  and  light,  as,  without  official 
orders,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  obtain  wood  at  all, 
even  in  Macedonia  where  it  was  much  more  abundant 
than  in  Northern  Serbia. 

When  the  Chief  had  gone,  we  drew  our  camp  chairs 
round  the  stove  again,  top-boots  off  tired  feet,  tunics 
unbuttoned,  in  slippered  ease,  the  room  thick  with 
tobacco  smoke,  through  which  the  oil  lamp  and  the 
glow  of  the  wood  fire  cast  a  comfortable  brightness. 
Even  Steve  was  quiet. 

Presently  Barclay  leant  forward,  his  blue  eyes  and 
fair  hair  shining  in  the  firelight  as  he  threw  his  cigarette 
end  into  the  glowing  embers. 

"  As  I  was  saying  last  night  to  Johnston  Abraham,  if 
the  Austrians  don't  come  along  and  capture  us,  or  the 
Bulgars  cut  us  off  from  Salonique  by  breaking  the  line, 
we  ought  to  be  very  happy  here  for  the  next  six 
months." 

Stretton,  Roman  nosed,  shaggy  eyebrowed,  looked  up 
aggressively  at  the  word  "  capture  "  and  broke  in  :  — 

"I'd  hate  that.  I'd  try  to  trek  into  Montenegro  by 
bullock  waggon,  or  over  the  Greek  frontier  to  Monastir, 
before  I'd  wait  to  be  caught." 

Steve  nodded  his  head  vigorously  in  agreement. 

"  No  prisoner  for  me.  Not  on  your  life,"  he  said 
vigorously. 

"  Oh  you.  You'd  be  all  right.  They'd  take  you  for 
an  American,"  said  Sherlock  with  a  twinkle.  That 
drew  Steve  at  once. 

"No,  Siree.  I  don't  fly  'Old  Glory'  this  trip. 
Nothing  doing." 

The  second  day  saw  us  at  work  at  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing. We  brought  four  of  our  orderlies,  leaving  the 
remainder  to  finish  the  sanitary  arrangements  of  our 
quarters.  The  Little  Red  Woman  was  already 
there,  dressing  a  special  favourite  of  her  own  who  had 


COMMENCING  WORK  53 

a  very  septic  compound  fracture  of  the  left  thigh,  and 
was  a  mere  recumbent  scaffolding  of  bones  from  which 
some  skin  and  flesh  depended.  He  ought  to  have  been 
dead.  He  ought  to  have  had  his  thigh  amputated 
weeks  before ;  but  he  clung  to  his  awful  limb  and  to 
life  with  the  tenacity  of  a  wild  animal,  and  the  Little 
Red  Woman  dressed  him  twice  daily  to  the  neglect  of 
others  because,  woman  like,  she  had  set  her  heart  on 
getting  him  well.  With  his  hollow  eyes,  sunken  lined 
cheeks,  and  neglected  straggling  beard,  he  looked 
seventy.  In  reality  he  was  under  thirty.  Nothing 
ages  a  man  so  rapidly  in  appearance  as  privation  and 
wounds.  We  were  continually  being  surprised  at  the 
age  of  our  patients.  Always  it  was  much  less  than  we 
had  guessed. 

Off  the  dressing  area  there  was  a  little  boarded  room 
in  which  lotions  were  kept,  bandages,  splints  and  dress- 
ings piled  up,  and  a  few  drugs  in  dirty  bottles  stored. 
Here  we  used  to  hang  up  our  tunics,  don  each  a  blue 
and  white  striped  overall,  and  sally  forth.  For  washing 
purposes  there  was  a  tin  basin,  and  a  can  of  water. 
When  we  wanted  more  water  for  making  up  lotions,  or 
for  washing  our  hands,  we  had  to  send  a  man  down  three 
flights  of  stairs  to  the  tap  in  the  yard  outside.  Fre- 
quently he  used  to  forget  to  return.  Then  we  sent 
another  man  to  find  him,  and  he  too  would  disappear. 
After  that  there  would  be  an  appeal  to  the  Little  Red 
Woman,  and  then  with  an  immense  flow  of  words, 
much  gesticulation,  eyes  flashing  from  beneath  her  head 
of  red  hair,  a  "  bolnitcher  "  (ward  orderly)  would  be 
impelled  reluctantly  to  seek  the  lost  one,  protesting  all 
the  time  that  it  was  not  his  job. 

When  a  dressing  was  taken  off,  theoretically  it  was 
dropped  into  a  large  circular  bin ;  but,  as  there  were 
twenty  people  dressing,  and  only  two  bins,  those  who 
were  too  far  off  had  not  the  time  to  push  through  the 
crowd  to  get  to  them.  The  dressings  therefore  were 
dropped  on  the  wooden  floor,  and  trodden  in.     Every 


54  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

now  and  again,  from  the  void  there  would  appear  a 
decrepit  old  Tzigane  (gipsy)  with  a  very  dirty  face  and 
dirtier  turban,  a  rusty  patch-work  smock  and  baggy 
trousers,  who,  with  lean  prehensile  fingers  would  seize 
one  of  the  bins,  grab  any  other  mass  of  dressings  near, 
and  carry  them  away.  These  burdens  he  used  to  dump 
on  a  piece  of  waste  ground  outside  the  hospital,  return- 
ing again  for  more.  This  and  carrying  water  was  his 
job.  We  used  to  dub  him  "The  Sanitary  Department." 
Who  had  appointed  him  to  the  post  nobody  knew. 
The  Little  Red  Woman  thought  he  had  taken  it  on 
his  own.  What  he  got  out  of  it  at  first  we  could  not 
discover,  until  we  found  that  whenever  he  dumped  a 
mass  of  septic  cotton-wool  and  bandages  outside,  two  or 
three  ancient  crones  used  to  go  over  it  carefully,  pick 
out  every  bit  of  cotton-wool  that  was  at  all  clean,  and 
carry  off  the  stuff  to  line  the  padded  waistcoats  and 
quilts  so  beloved  of  the  Balkan  people.  It  did  not 
strike  us  as  a  very  rapid  way  of  making  a  fortune,  until 
we  discovered  that  any  stray  scissors,  or  knives,  left 
around  used  also  to  disappear,  and  one  fine  morning,  a 
few  days  later,  the  little  woman  caught  the  old  ruffian, 
red-handed,  walking  off  with  a  complete  new  roll  of 
cotton- wool  under  his  arm.  What  she  said  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  remember  seeing  him  start  to  run,  propelled 
from  behind  by  the  boot  of  a  "  bolnitcher."  A  shouting 
went  down  the  stairs,  and  a  relay  of  grim  faces  and  kick- 
ing boots  greeted  him  all  the  way  to  the  bottom.  It 
is  said  he  rolled  the  last  flight  of  stairs  head  over  heels. 
That  was  the  last  we  saw  of  the  "  Sanitary  Depart- 
ment." Evidently  he  took  it  as  a  polite  intimation  that 
his  services  were  no  longer  required,  and  transferred  his 
activities  elsewhere. 

To  anyone  accustomed  to  the  ordered  cleanliness  of 
an  English  hospital,  and  its  elaborate  paraphernalia  for 
the  treatment  and  care  of  the  patients,  it  is  impossible 
adequately  to  describe  the  conditions  we  were  forced  to 
work  under  in  those  early  days,  before  we  had  been  able 


COBIENCING  WORK  55 

to  introduce  some  sort  of  system  into  the  hospital.  In 
our  huge  wards  we  never  had  time  to  go  round  the  beds, 
so  as  to  know  the  cases.  On  an  average  there  were 
always  three  patients  to  every  two  beds,  the  beds  being 
pushed  side  by  side.  The  men  lay  unwashed  for  weeks. 
At  the  head  of  each  bed  was  the  man's  haversack,  pro- 
jecting from  which  was  a  round  loaf  of  rye  bread.  This 
was  his  daily  ration.  If  he  was  too  ill  to  eat  it,  his 
neighbour  ate  it  for  him,  or  he  peddled  it  away  for  small 
cakes,  sweetmeats  and  cigarettes  carried  round  by 
itinerent  vendors  who  found  their  way  into  the  wards, 
and  bought  the  bread  at  35  centimes  a  loaf.  In  addi- 
tion there  was  a  certain  amount  of  soup  and  meat  given 
out,  but  in  the  most  haphazard  way.  If  a  man  was  too 
ill  to  sit  up,  or  hold  out  his  hand  for  food  when  it  was 
being  passed  round,  he  got  none.  The  worst  cases, 
therefore,  if  they  had  no  friends  looking  after  them,  died 
without  our  knowing  of  it. 

Of  nursing  proper  there  was  none.  What  was  done 
was  by  the  so-called  "  sestras,"  totally  ignorant  women 
of  the  peasant  class.  If  a  wounded  man  had  a  wife, 
or  sister  or  daughter  in  the  neighbourhood,  she  used  to 
come  and  look  after  him.  Frequently  we  used  to  find 
a  woman  sleeping  in  her  clothes  between  two  men.  She 
was  either  a  relation,  or  one  of  the  "  sestras  "  attached 
to  the  hospital.  No  one  seemed  to  think  it  in  the  least 
strange,  and  we  too  soon  became  accustomed  to  it.  In 
addition  there  were  a  certain  number  of  male  "  bol- 
nitchers  "  (orderlies).  Some  of  these  were  ex-soldiers, 
and  had  a  rough  knowledge  of  surgical  first  aid.  Most 
of  them,  however,  were  civilians  exempt  for  some  reason 
from  military  service.  They  slept  amongst  the  patients 
in  the  hospital,  and  drew  rations,  but  no  pay.  Some 
of  them  worked  splendidly,  as  did  most  of  the  "sestras." 
Others  did  nothing.  They  used  to  slip  out  of  the  hos- 
pital in  the  morning,  roam  about  the  town  all  day, 
spend  what  money  they  had,  and  return  to  sleep  in  the 
hospital  at  night.     How  they  got  the  money  to  sit  all 


56  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

day  in  cafes  puzzled  us  at  first,  till  we  found  out  that 
they  systematically  robbed  the  dead  and  dying  of  their 
poor  possessions,  whilst  pretending  to  look  after  them. 
Other  sources  of  income  more  or  less  legitimate  we 
discovered  later.  There  were  a  considerable  number  of 
patients  who  were  able  to  walk  to  the  dressing  area  to 
have  their  wounds  attended  to.  They  could  look  after 
themselves;  but,  owing  to  the  fact  that  we  were  too 
busy  to  go  round  the  wards,  those  unable  to  walk  had 
to  be  carried  on  stretchers  to  the  dressing  room,  and  so 
were  dependent  on  the  "  bolnitchers  "  bringing  them. 
Very  soon  we  noticed  that  certain  patients  were  brought 
regularly,  whereas  others  we  wanted  to  see  did  not 
appear  again,  sometimes  for  several  days,  sometimes 
not  at  all.  I  questioned  the  Little  Red  Woman 
about  this.     Her  eyes  flashed  furiously. 

"  Oh,  the  devils,"  she  exclaimed.  "  They  will  bring 
but  those  who  them  can  tip.  I  one  man  caught.  The 
Major,  when  I  told  him  was  very  angry.  He  slapped 
the  man's  face  and  gave  him  the  dismissal.  But  he  did 
not  care.  He  had  made  two  hundred  dinars  in  one 
month.  The  others,  they  are  all  the  same.  It  is  an 
infamy." 

All  these  things  of  course  we  discovered  afterwards. 
The  amount  of  work  we  had  to  do  at  first  was  so  over- 
whelming we  had  no  time  to  think,  no  time  to  formulate 
any  plans,  no  time  to  do  anything  but  dress,  dress, 
dress,  from  morning  to  night.  Hundreds  of  fresh  cases 
came  pouring  in  daily.  The  Serbs  were  in  retreat, 
doggedly  contesting  every  ridge,  holding  every  ravine, 
throwing  up  earthworks  across  the  path  of  the  invader, 
and  holding  them  till  they  were  pounded  out  of  exist- 
ence by  shell  fire,  miles  away,  to  which  they  could  make 
no  adequate  reply,  as  their  own  shells  were  exhausted. 
It  was  a  horrible  time.  Every  day  the  news  grew  worse 
and  worse.  The  Press  Bureau  published  daily  bulletins 
claiming  splendid  victories,  but  no  one  believed  them. 
There  were  too  many  wounded  coming  back,  always 


COMMENCING  WORK  57 

with  a  story  of  retreat  after  retreat,  too  many  train 
loads  of  refugees  arriving  with  the  pitiful  remnants  of 
their  household  treasures,  to  make  anyone  credit  otticial 
victories.  As  to  us  we  were  too  busy  to  think  about  the 
fortunes  of  the  campaign.  We  knew  too  little  about 
the  places  where  fighting  was  going  on  to  form  any 
adequate  idea  of  the  menace.  It  was  only  when  we  got 
the  Consul's  copy  of  the  Weekly  l^iims,  a  fortnight 
late,  that  we  knew  what  was  happening  fifty  miles 
away. 

Our  day's  work  was  something  as  follows.  At  five- 
thirty  in  the  morning  our  smiling  Franz  came  into  each 
of  the  three  bedrooms,  started  the  fires  and  lit  the  lamps 
to  rid  the  place  of  the  icy  atmosphere.  At  six  he  came 
round  with  bath  water,  and  our  **  gum  "  boots.  At  six- 
thirty  the  night  orderly  reported  to  the  orderly  officer. 
At  seven  the  breakfast  bell  went,  and  the  day  had  com- 
menced. After  breakfast  we  had  time  for  a  smoke  and 
that  desultory  shop-talk  so  beloved  of  the  technically 
trained  mind,  so  useful  in  clarifyin*;  ideas,  crystallising 
some  line  of  action.  At  8.15  the  orderly  officer  marched 
his  men  over  to  the  hospital,  and  set  them  getting  things 
in  order  for  the  day.  The  rest  of  the  staff  followed 
at  8.30. 

At  first  we  found  it  difficult  to  get  going  in  the  morn- 
ing. Everything  was  topsy-turvy ;  the  dressing  tables 
were  not  set ;  basins  and  receptacles  were  not  to  be 
found.  Then  we  discovered  that  the  tables  used  for 
dressing  were  also  used  previously  by  the  bolnitchers 
and  sestras  to  take  their  food  off,  and  the  food  itself 
was  carried  up  in  the  basins  used  afterwards  as  dressing 
bowls. 

It  sounds  almost  incredible  on  looking  back  on  it 
now,  but  at  the  time  we  were  so  short  of  everything  we 
accepted  it  as  a  matter  of  course ;  and  it  did  not  seem 
to  strike  the  Serbs  as  at  all  unusual.  Afterwards  when 
our  own  stores  came  through,  and  we  realised  we  could 
buy  things  in  the  town,  the  equipment  improved  beyond 


58  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

recognition ;  and  we  came  to  look  upon  our  Hospital  as 
quite  up  to  date  in  a  Serbian  sense,  finding  that  many 
things  we  had  been  accustomed  to  could  be  dispensed 
with  entirely,  without  sacrificing  efiiciency,  a  lesson  I 
for  one  never  forgot  in  the  next  four  years  of 
campaigning. 

Once  started  we  worked  on  steadily  until  one  o'clock, 
without  seemingly  making  any  impression  on  the 
number  of  patients,  for  as  soon  as  one  case  was  seen  and 
dressed,  two  more  seemed  to  take  his  place.  The 
number  of  perforating  wounds  of  the  right  arm  and 
hand,  I  remember,  struck  us  very  much  at  first,  until  it 
dawned  on  us  that  this  hand  and  arm,  holding  the  rifle, 
was  more  exposed  than  any  other  part  of  the  body 
except  the  head,  a  shot  through  which  probably  killed 
most  of  the  patients  either  immediately,  or  soon  after- 
wards from  insufficient  treatment  before  they  came  our 
length.  There  was  a  tendency,  I  found,  to  consider  most 
of  these  wounds  as  self-inflicted ;  but  I  am  convinced 
that  in  many  cases  this  was  not  so,  and  I  always  gave 
such  patients  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  thinking  that  any 
man  who  had  faced  the  hell  of  the  trenches  was  entitled 
to  it.  Still  the  fact  remains  that  on  some  mornings  we 
used  to  get  a  succession  of  them ;  and  I  have  vivid 
memories  of  Stretton  calling  out  monotonously  his 
diagnosis  as  lie  dashed  backwards  and  forwards  to  the 
Secretary's  table  with  the  "  leestas  "  of  his  patients  : — 
"  vulmis  schlopetarius  antibrachii  dextris  perforans  " 
varied  occasionally  with  a  "  vulnus  shrapnellus  hrachii 
dextris  penetrans.^^ 

Everybody  worked  hard  in  those  days.  The  immense 
vitality  of  the  Little  Red  Woman  was  a  constant 
stimulus  to  us  all.  Half  the  patients  seemed  to  have 
rifle  bullets  or  pieces  of  shrapnel  embedded  in  them 
somewhere  or  other.  Even  the  orderlies  began  to 
diagnose  them,  and  bring  them  up  to  us.  In  an  English 
hospital  each  case  would  have  been  accurately  localised 
by   X-rays,   prepared   for   operation,    and   the    bullet 


COMMENCING  WORK  59 

extracted  with  rigid  aseptic  precautions  under  chloro- 
form. Here  we  had  no  time  for  that.  A  case  would 
come  along  to  the  surgeon,  the  diagnosis  would  be  made, 
two  or  thrt-e  orderlies  instructed  to  hold  the  patient, 
there  would  be  a  rapid  cut,  a  quick  probe  with  sinus 
forceps,  a  pull  and  out  would  come  the  bullet,  to  be 
handed  over  to  the  patient  or  dropped  amongst  a  dozen 
others  into  the  tin  basin  on  the  table. 

A  dab  of  iodine  and  a  bandage  finished  the  operation. 
There  was  no  chloroform,  we  hadn't  time,  and  the 
patients  were  afraid  of  it.  In  treatment  we  had  gone 
baek  to  the  period  of  the  Napoleonic  wars.  Frequently 
a  patient  through  whose  arm  a  bullet  had  passed,  pos- 
sibly fracturing  one  or  both  bones,  would  come  up, 
point  to  the  small  wound  of  entrance  and  the  large 
crateriform  exit,  shake  his  head  and  say  "  doom  doom," 
obviously  under  the  belief  that  he  had  been  struck  by 
a  *'  dum  dum  "  or  expanding  bullet.  This  to  anyone 
with  the  knowledge  of  how  a  bullet  behaves  was  of 
course  inaccurate. 

It  is  true  that  specimens  of  so-called  explosive  bullets, 
fitted  with  a  fulminate  of  mercury  core,  and  said  to 
have  been  taken  from  the  Mannlichcr  bullet  clips  found 
on  Austrian  prisoners,  were  sent  to  us  for  inspection 
from  time  to  time  by  the  Serbian  government.  They 
may  have  been  used  by  snipers,  but  it  is  exceedingly 
unlikely  that  they  were  ever  issued  for  volleying — they 
are  too  difficult  to  make,  too  dangerous  for  indiscrim- 
inate handling,  too  uncertain  in  their  bursting  power 
to  have  made  their  issue  on  a  large  scale  worth 
while. 

To  the  lay  eye,  however,  the  horrible  wound  which 
can  be  caused  by  a  spinning  bullet  striking  bone,  or 
turning  on  its  long  axis,  seems  capal)le  of  only  one  inter- 
pretation ;  and  that  is  why  so  many  stories  of  reversed, 
dum  dum,  or  explosive  bullets  were  told  and  believed 
by  each  of  the  belligerents  against  the  others.  Our  own 
bullet,  judging  from  the  wounds  in  German  prisoners, 


60  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

seems  to  have  been  particularly  deadly  in  this  way, 
owing  to  its  unstable  centre  of  equilibrium. 

But  to  resume.  We  used  to  break  off  before  one 
o'clock  to  allow  patients  to  have  their  mid-day  meal, 
and  ourselves  a  breathing  space.  Two  o'clock,  how- 
ever, found  us  back  again,  working  on  steadily  until 
five.  By  this  time  it  was  dark,  and  the  miserable  oil 
lamps  we  possessed  made  dressing  very  difficult. 
Occasionally  the  electric  light  was  working,  and  we 
could  get  along  more  quickly ;  but  usually  the  current 
was  not  running,  and  we  fumbled  along  as  best  we 
could.  Even  then  the  work  was  not  done.  Frequently 
our  bandage  rollers  would  strike,  saying  they  had  run 
out  of  material.  This  held  us  up  effectually  for  the  first 
week,  till  our  own  stores  arrived.  Then  we  used  to 
break  into  the  precious  cases,  and  use  our  own  beautiful 
bandages,  always  feeling  that  they  were  too  few,  and 
that  we  dare  not  use  them  freely,  lest  we  be  left  without 
in  an  emergency.  After  five  we  let  our  orderlies  off; 
but  for  us  there  was  no  such  respite.  The  Little 
Red  Woman  was  so  indefatigable,  that  if  we  did  not 
return  we  knew  she  would  carry  on  alone.  Of  course, 
we  realised  none  of  us  could  keep  at  this  pressure  for 
long;  we  could  see  that  she  was  already  verging  on  a 
collapse ;  but  for  the  first  few  weeks  the  work  was  so 
pressing  we  felt  that  we  could  not  allow  ourselves  to 
think  of  exhaustion.  When  we  did  get  back  to  our 
quarters  we  used  to  eat  our  long  delayed  dinner,  and 
immediately  afterwards  tumble  into  bed,  too  dog-weary 
almost  to  speak  to  one  another.  So  it  was  day  after 
day.  One  day  was  so  like  another  we  soon  ceased  to 
know  which  day  it  was.  Sundays  and  Saturdays  were 
all  alike. 

One  day  during  the  second  week,  Stretton  and  I,  after 
a  short  evening  caused  by  failure  of  supplies,  found  the 
energy  to  call  on  the  other  English  unit  to  see  how  they 
were  getting  on.  They  were  tremendously  pleased  with 
themselves,  for  after  surmounting  endless  difficulties 


COMMENCING  WORK  61 

they  were  at  length  ready  to  "  take  in,"  and  had  that 
morning  received  their  first  cases.  How  we  envied 
them  the  cleanhness  of  the  place,  the  smiling  eyes  of 
the  sisters,  the  small  wards  of  some  twelve  to  twenty 
beds  where  no  one  could  be  overlooked,  the  washed 
faces  and  clean  bodies  of  the  patients  actually  clad  in 
new  pyjamas,  lying  between  real  sheets  which  were 
changed  whenever  required.  The  contrast  to  our  own 
place  made  our  hearts  ache.  And  yet — I  think  we  were 
glad  we  were  not  as  they.  It  was  all  very  nice,  very 
right,  just  as  it  should  be — and  yet. 

"  I  think,"  Stretton  said  slowly,  "  we  are  doing  what 
the  Serbs  really  want  at  present." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  I  answered.  "  What  we  are  is  a 
Clearing  Station.  What  they  want  at  present  is  a 
Clearing  Station.  The  men  have  to  be  seen  in  numbers, 
roughly  diagnosed,  sufficiently  treated  for  the  time 
being,  and  passed  on  to  make  room  for  others.  That's 
what  the  military  machine  wants." 

And  that,  we  knew  was  what  was  happening  at  our 
hospital.  We  were  just  outside  the  station;  and  by 
every  train  patients  arrived  and  walked  in  on  us,  or 
were  dumped  on  us  in  stretchers  just  as  they  were,  un- 
washed, undressed,  unclassified,  with  the  mud  of  the 
trenches  and  the  first  field  dressing  of  their  ten-day-old 
wounds  still  unchanged.  We  saw  them,  dressed  them, 
fed  them  for  a  day  or  so ;  and  then  round  would  come 
the  Commandant,  Major  Suskalovitch,  with  his  orderly 
officer,  a  rapid  inspection  of  the  beds  would  be  made, 
the  "  leestas  "  of  all  the  men  capable  of  being  moved 
taken  away,  a  train  load  made  up,  and  off  they  would 
go  to  Veles,  Ghevgeli,  Kalkandelen,  Monastir,  anywhere 
further  back  on  the  Mitrovitza  or  Salonika  line,  to  make 
room  for  more  and  more  coming  in  from  the  front. 

It  consoled  us,  coming  back  from  the  beautifully 
arranged  hospital  we  had  just  been  seeing,  to  feel  that 
we  truly  were  doing  men's  work,  that  we  were  an  essen- 
tial part  of  the  machine. 


62  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

As  we  were  walking  back  in  the  darkness  after  our 
visit,  stumbling  over  the  uneven  cobble  stones  close  to 
the  Vardar  bridge,  we  were  challenged  loudly,  but  were 
so  engrossed  we  took  no  notice.  The  challenge  was 
repeated  louder  and  more  peremptorily.  We  stopped 
but  could  see  no  one  in  the  darkness. 

Then  suddenly  we  found  ourselves  confronted  by 
two  roughly  clad  sentries.  One  pushed  his  bayonet 
perilously  near  Stretton's  abdomen,  and  shouted 
excitedly  at  him. 

"  Here.  Take  your  damned  toasting  fork  away  from 
that,"  retorted  Stretton  peevishly,  not  understanding 
a  word. 

I  was  wondering  what  possible  use  the  sentry  could 
make  of  this,  when  the  man  settled  it  for  me  by 
suddenly  laughing. 

"  Say,  Mister.     You  American  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  English,"  Stretton  answered  gruffly. 

"  Reckon  that's  all  right.     I  bin  America." 

He  was  a  patriotic  Serb  who  had  returned  to  his 
country  when  war  was  declared.  From  being  fiercely 
suspicious  and  bloodthirsty,  he  suddenly  veered  round 
to  extreme  friendliness,  and  a  child-like  desire  to  air  his 
English  before  his  silent  companion.  The  answer  to  the 
challenge,  he  said,  was  "  Prijatelj  "  (friend).  He 
told  us  that  his  name  was  Marko  Markovitch.  We 
gave  the  pair  of  them  some  cigarettes,  and  parted  the 
best  of  friends.  Frequently  afterwards  in  our  night 
rambles  we  used  to  stop  and  have  a  yarn  with  Marko. 

By  this  time  we  were  beginning  to  settle  down  in  our 
new  quarters.  We  had  got  rid  of  our  Serbian  women 
helpers ;  Charlie,  our  fat  Maltese  cook,  w^as  in  possession 
of  the  kitchen,  and  food  more  or  less  like  that  to  which 
we  were  accustomed  began  to  appear.  Our  ubiquitous 
dragoman  Ike  was  also  very  much  in  evidence.  He 
bought  everything  for  us,  as  none  of  the  unit  as  yet  had 
any  knowledge  of  Serbian.      For  his  services  he  was 


COMMENCING  WORK  G3 

supposed  to  receive  no  pay.  When  therefore  he  began 
to  show  signs  of  always  having  money  to  spend  in  wine 
shops  we  began  to  wonder ;  but  as  he  was  still  indis- 
pensable we  said  nothing,  for  when  not  buying  provi- 
sions, utensils,  etc.,  he  was  acting  as  interpreter 
between  us  and  the  Commandant ;  and  we  also  found 
him  useful  in  the  hospital.  He  was  so  clever,  so  active, 
so  untiring,  it  was  impossible  not  to  admire  him.  He 
could  get  us  five  dinars  more  for  the  sovereign  than  the 
Franco-Serbian  Bank  gave.  He  knew  where  everything 
could  be  bought,  and  what  price  should  be  paid  for  it. 
How  much  commission  he  got  on  purchases  we  could 
not  determine.  According  to  the  immemorial  custom  of 
the  country  he  was  entitled  to  "  bakshish  "  whenever  he 
could  get  it.  But  it  fretted  the  Chief  all  the  time ;  he 
never  quite  trusted  him ;  and  the  man  knew  it.  A  sort 
of  armed  neutrality  sprang  up  between  them,  and 
we  could  see  that  soon  they  would  come  to  an  open 
breach. 

But  there  were  other  matters  more  pressing  than  the 
questionable  honesty  of  Ike.  During  the  day  we 
had  more  or  less  control  over  the  patients'  treatment; 
but  at  night  this  was  not  so.  Then  they  were  left  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  bolnitchers,  and  what  this 
meant  we  had  soon  occasion  to  know.  A  patient  in  a 
state  of  collapse  was  put  on  "  Koniak,"  a  crude  brandy 
of  Greek  manufacture.  As  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
have  it  in  the  night,  the  full  bottle  was  entrusted  to  the 
head  bolnitcher.  The  result  was  that  the  bottle 
was  empty  in  the  morning,  the  patient  had  had  none, 
but  four  of  the  bolnitchers  got  fighting-drunk  on  it, 
and  a  delirious  man  with  a  fractured  arm,  wandered  out 
naked  in  the  night,  and  was  picked  up  dead  in  the 
morning. 

That  determined  us  to  draw  upon  our  small  quota  of 
men,  and  appoint  one  of  our  orderlies  to  do  night  duty. 
Even  though  he  could  not  speak  a  word  of  the  language, 
anything  would  be  better  than  the  treatment  they  had 


64  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

been  receiving,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  night  interpreter 
things  might  be  possible. 

Eventually  we  did  get  a  sort  of  interpreter.  He  was 
a  Bohemian  who  had  been  a  teacher  of  music  before  the 
war.  His  Serbian  was  bad,  and  his  English  worse ; 
but  he  could  speak  Hungarian  and  Roumanian,  and  so 
was  rather  useful  at  times.  We  called  him  the  "  White 
Rabbit."  He  looked  it,  and  remained  the  "  White 
Rabbit  "  until  the  end  of  the  chapter.  A  furious  rivalry 
sprang  up  at  once  between  him  and  Ike,  who  regarded 
him  as  an  intruder,  and  probably  a  spy  upon  himself. 
J  believe  he  was  honest  and  served  us  to  the  best  of 
his  ability. 

Another  of  our  early  troubles  was  the  question  of 
operations.  Before  anything  extensive  could  be  done, 
it  was  the  regulation  that  there  must  be  a  consultation 
between  our  Major  and  the  Chief.  After  that  the 
patient's  own  consent  had  to  be  obtained.  And  then 
the  operation  was  done.  As  a  consequence,  of  course, 
precious  time  was  constantly  lost  at  first.  One  man 
came  in  with  diffuse  cellulitis  of  the  thigh,  a  deep 
brawny  inflammation  that  obviously  required  extensive 
incisions,  and  almost  certainly  an  amputation.  The 
case  was  under  Barclay's  care;  but  the  Major  and  the 
Chief  were  not  available;  the  patient  knew  nothing  of 
these  strange  doctors  who  could  not  even  speak  his 
language,  and  wanted  to  take  his  leg  off.  Naturally  he 
got  terrified,  and  flatly  refused  everything,  so  that  by 
the  time  the  machinery  was  set  working  it  was  too  late. 
He  died  next  day  before  anything  could  be  done. 

After  the  first  week,  however,  things  began  to  im- 
prove ;  and  by  the  time  our  theatre  was  ready  we  were 
able  to  make  ample  use  of  it.  To  begin  with,  the  Major 
had  seen  the  quality  of  our  work,  and  was  satisfied 
to  leave  decisions  to  our  judgment.  By  this  time  too 
the  patients,  newly  arrived,  learnt  from  the  older  ones 
that  they  were  safe  in  our  hands.  In  addition  the 
Little  Red  Woman  had  become  our  warm  advocate, 


COMMENCING  WORK  65 

and  was  able  to  go  round,  telling  them  what  we  had 
done  for  others,  and  advising  consent  to  our  wishes 
whenever  we  said  it  was  necessary  to  operate.  Thus 
eventually  it  became  simply  a  matter  of  consent  on  the 
patient's  part,  and  the  operation  was  proceeded  with  at 
once. 

But  even  then  there  was  the  immense  difficulty  of  the 
patient's  consent.  The  Serb  is  a  primitive  man,  with 
all  the  horror  of  a  primitive  man  for  any  maiming  opera- 
tion. Again  and  again  we  would  tell  a  patient  he  ought 
to  have,  for  instance,  his  foot  off,  and  he  would  refuse 
absolutely,  clinging  to  the  desperate  hope  that  time 
might  heal  him.  Then  as  he  grew  steadily  worse, 
racked  with  pain,  feeling  his  strength  ebbing,  he  would 
at  last  give  a  grudging  consent,  only  to  be  told  that  the 
time  for  such  an  amputation  was  past,  the  disease  had 
spread  further,  and  we  could  no  longer  hold  out  any 
prospect  of  cure  below  the  knee  joint. 

Austrian  prisoners  on  the  other  hand  were  much  more 
amenable  to  suggestion,  more  accustomed  to  the 
thought  of  the  surgeon's  knife,  more  docile  in  every 
way.  For  the  most  part  they  were  dwellers  in  towns, 
accustomed  to  hospitals,  and  they  showed  a  touching 
confidence  in  our  skill,  and  a  willingness  to  submit  to 
any  necessary  proceeding,  that  made  them  ideal 
patients. 

The  Serb  was  quite  different.  The  wild  free  man  in 
him  hated  the  surgeon  and  all  his  works,  hated  the 
thought  that,  after  recovering  from  some  suggested 
operation,  he  might  no  longer  be  able  to  swing  along  the 
mountain  track,  hour  after  hour  beside  his  pack  mule 
loaded  with  charcoal,  guide  his  slow-moving  oxen  at  the 
plough,  or  follow  the  bear,  rifle  in  hand,  up  the  sides  of 
the  precipitous  tree-clad  ravine  at  the  base  of  which  his 
village  nestled. 

As  I  write  I  can  remember  one  such  patient,  a 
thin  wasted  black-bearded  fellow,  the  remains  of  a 
once  powerful  swift-moving  man — Stefan  Vassalovitch. 

E 


66  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

When  I  came  to  examine  him,  he  watched  me  with  the 
pitiful  brown  eyes  of  a  wounded  animal.  Both  his  legs 
were  gangrenous  from  frost  bite  followed  by  septic 
infection.  The  Little  Red  Woman  was  with  me  at 
the  time,  and  very  tenderly  she  told  him  what  we 
thought.  He  asked  for  a  day  to  make  up  his  mind, 
saying  his  wife  was  coming  from  some  far  away  village 
off  the  line,  and  he  must  have  her  consent  before  he 
could  submit  to  any  operation.  The  woman  came.  I 
saw  her,  a  squat  peasant  woman  with  a  heavy  impassive 
weather-beaten  face  under  her  gaudy  handkerchief, 
wearing  a  thick  white  sheepskin  padded  coat,  a  gaily 
embroidered  skirt,  coarse  red  and  blue  stockings  and 
thonged  sandals.  We  talked  to  her  at  the  bedside,  the 
little  woman  and  I.  She  refused  absolutely.  She  said 
she  would  rather  see  her  husband  die  than  have  him 
maimed  for  life.  There  was  no  one  else  to  work  the 
little  farm,  to  drive  the  oxen  to  market,  to  tend  the 
sheep,  to  gather  in  the  maize.  She  said  she  would 
rather  be  a  widow  than  have  a  helpless  cripple  on  her 
hands.  She  talked  to  us  quite  simply,  quite  impas- 
sively, and  the  man  agreed  with  her,  every  word.  It 
was  not  callousness.  In  its  way  it  was  the  ultimate 
sacrifice.  You  must  remember  there  was  no  provision 
for  the  maimed  in  Serbia,  no  wounds  pension  for  the 
disabled  soldier,  no  poor  law,  nothing.  He  would 
simply  be  a  burden  on  her  shoulders  for  life ;  they  both 
knew  it ;  and  he  elected  to  die.  It  was  in  vain  that  we 
protested.  The  Little  Red  Woman  almost  wept. 
It  was  useless.  They  had  made  up  their  minds  that  he 
was  better  dead. 

He  did  die. 

Looking  back  on  it  now  I  do  not  know  what  we 
should  have  done  without  the  Little  Woman.  She 
was  so  wonderful,  so  enthusiastic,  so  energetic,  so  fiery, 
so  emotional,  so  very  brave,  so  wrongheaded  at  times, 
so  intensely  feminine.  We  were  all  on  the  strain  to* 
keep  up  with  her.     We  never  knew  what  new  Quixotism 


COMMENCING  WORK  67 

she  would  involve  herself  in  next.  She  acted  as  an 
intermediary  between  us  and  the  patients,  explaining, 
re-explaining,  calming  their  fears,  overcoming  their 
suspicions,  making  them  feel  what  we  could  not  express 
to  them  in  words,  our  overwhelming  desire  to  do  every 
possible  thing  we  could  for  them.  She  apologised  for 
our  foibles  to  the  Serbian  authorities,  especially  to  our 
courteous  old  Commandant,  Major  Suskalovitch,  ex- 
plaining that  our  attempts  to  get  open  windows  and 
cross  ventilation  were  not  absolutely  criminal,  but  only 
an  English  fad,  to  be  more  or  less  humoured ;  that  our 
wish  to  have  in-patients  washed  was  part  of  our 
upbringing,  and  ought  to  be  encouraged  if  they  could 
find  time  to  lay  on  water  in  the  hospital ;  that  our 
strictures  on  the  awful  sanitary  arrangements  were  more 
or  less  justified.  It  was  she  who  persuaded  them  to 
let  us  fit  up  an  operating  theatre  in  an  adjoining  build- 
ing, away  from  the  septic  atmosphere  of  the  hospital. 
It  was  she,  also,  who  explained  that  two  of  us  were 
Fellows  of  the  College  of  Surgeons,  and  therefore  pre- 
sumably fit  to  be  trusted  to  do  any  form  of  major 
operation.  Taking  her  on  sufferance  at  first,  we  soon 
came  to  consider  her  the  most  essential  part  of  our  unit. 

It  was  about  that  time,  I  think,  that  Sherlock,  who 
had  made  great  friends  with  her,  discovered  that  she 
was  living  in  a  room  by  herself  in  the  administrative 
block,  and  was  having  her  food  sent  in  haphazard  at  any 
time,  that  she  had  no  friends  in  the  place  except  our 
old  Commandant,  and  was  as  much  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land  as  ourselves. 

That  gave  him  an  idea. 

"  I  say,  look  here  you  fellows.  We've  got  to  make 
her  join  our  mess,"  he  said  one  night,  when  we  had  been 
discussing  how  useful  she  was  to  us. 

"  I  call  that  a  mighty  bright  idea,"  said  Steve. 

"I'm  ashamed  to  think  we  never  thought  of  it 
before,"  said  Barclay. 

"  It  seems  to  be  carried  by  acclamation,"  I  said. 


68  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Then  we  told  the  Chief,  who  gave  a  cautious  approval, 
and  Sherlock  was  deputed  to  broach  the  subject  to 
her. 

To  his  consternation  she  refused  absolutely.  Then 
we  tackled  her  severally,  telling  her  how  disappointed 
we  would  be,  how  honoured  we  should  feel  if  she  re- 
considered the  matter,  and  how  much  we  depended  on 
her  presence  to  keep  us  from  degenerating  into  absolute 
barbarians. 

"  But,  no.  You  do  not  want  me  really,"  she  would 
say.     "  I  shall  be  what  you  call  a  restrain.     No." 

Finally  we  told  her  we  expected  her  to  dinner  on 
Saturday  night  at  seven  o'clock,  and  a  place  would  be 
laid  for  her. 

Saturday  night  came.  Seven  o'clock  came.  Charlie 
sent  to  announce  that  dinner  was  ready,  and  we  trooped 
in.     But  no  Doctor  Kadish — that  was  her  name. 

Steve  was  the  orderly  officer. 

"  Guess  I've  got  to  fetch  her,"  he  said,  tightening  his 
belt. 

Then  he  went  over  to  her  room.  She  was  sitting  at 
the  stove  reading. 

"  We're  waiting  for  you,"  he  said,  noticing  at  once 
that  she  had  changed  into  a  black  dinner  dress. 

"  But  I  have  said  that  I  cannot  come,"  she  retorted. 

"  Well.  I  guess  I've  just  got  to  carry  you  then.  The 
longer  we  stay  here  the  colder  our  dinner  gets,"  he  said, 
stepping  across  to  where  her  cloak  was  hanging  on  a 

peg. 

"  Here,  put  this  fluffy  thing  on,  right  now." 

Then  she  came  without  a  murmur. 

And  that  settled  it. 

Every  night  the  orderly  officer  called  for  her.  Every 
night  after  dinner  he  saw  her  back  to  her  room.  For 
we  had  by  now  discovered  a  curious  thing.  In  spite  of 
her  courage,  her  freedom  from  convention,  her  absolute 
belief  in  her  power  to  look  after  herself,  her  utter  care- 
lessness of  danger,  she  was  afraid  to  go  back  the  short 


I'l.itc    III.      'I'llc    Little    l;.il    W.iin.in    .111.1    l'.;inl.i\. 


COMMENCING  WORK  69 

distance  from  the  mess  to  her  room  in  the  dark.  She 
used  to  laugh  at  it.  She  was  rather  ashamed  of  it.  But 
she  never  got  over  the  feeling ;  and  if  by  chance  she  had 
to  do  it  occasionally  she  ran  the  whole  way  in  terror — 
terror  of  she  knew  not  what,  probably  some  obliterated 
memory  of  a  fright  in  her  childhood,  now  forgotten 
except  by  the  sub-conscious  memory. 


CHAPTER  IV 
SETTLING  DOWN 

A  threatened  tobacco  famine — The  easy  going  methods  of  the  Serbian 
post  office — "  Mein  Weib  und  Kinder  " — The  suspicions  of  the 
Russian  apothecary — Recurrent  fever  and  how  it  got  us — Why 
the  Magyar  was  hated — Robinson  Crusoe — The  trousers  of  the 
Austrian  Sergeant — A  Balkan  comedy  and  the  Komitadgi — 
King's  Messengers. 

LOOKING  back  on  this  period,  I  remember  we 
were  so  happy  in  our  work  we  soon  ceased  to 
-«  consider  the  disabilities  we  were  labouring 
under,  the  risks  of  infection  we  ran,  the  constant  plague 
of  lice  from  which,  do  what  we  could,  we  daily  suffered. 
None  of  these  things  worried  us.  But  what  did,  what 
set  us  planning  and  thinking,  what  became  a  deep 
anxiety  to  us  was  the  fear  that  we  might  run  short  of 
tobacco.  To  me  especially  this  was  a  nightmare.  We 
had  been  told  at  Malta  we  were  going  straight  into  the 
middle  of  the  tobacco  country,  that  cigarettes  and  cigars 
were  everywhere  abundant,  that  there  was  no  use  in 
carrying  coals  to  Newcastle.  Consequently  we  had  each 
brought  with  us  about  a  month's  supply,  and  now  found 
ourselves  faced  with  a  famine.  Tobacco  was  a  govern- 
ment monopoly.  Pipe  tobacco  was  unknown  in  the 
country.  Foreign  tobacco  was  contraband,  and  could 
not  be  imported.  The  government  factory  at  Belgrade 
had  been  destroyed  by  shell  fire,  and  so  no  more  was 
being  produced.  The  great  tobacco  warehouses,  such  as 
ours,  had  been  cleared  and  turned  into  hospitals.  No 
more  cigars  were  being  manufactured  ;  and  so  there  was 
an  imminent  likelihood  of  our  soon  being  without  any 
form   of  tobacco,   good,   bad   or   indifferent.      Conse- 

70 


SETTLING  DOWN  71 

quently  everyone  began  to  count  his  stores.  I  had  still 
a  pound,  and  knew  I  was  safe  for  a  month.  Stretton 
had  half  a  pound.  The  others  had  cigarettes  only.  By 
skilful  diplomacy  we  managed  to  secure  more  from  un- 
suspecting members  of  the  Paget  Unit  who  had  not  yet 
grasped  the  situation.  But  all  this  was  merely  pallia- 
tive. Then  Barclay  and  I  remembered  a  friend  in 
Malta,  and  decided  to  send  him  a  five  pound  note  ask- 
ing him  to  forward  consignments,  when  he  could,  under 
the  label  of  the  St.  John  Ambulance  Association,  so  as 
to  dodge  the  Greek  and  Serbian  Customs.  But  how  to 
get  the  letter  to  him  safely  was  the  difficulty,  for  that 
was  another  of  our  troubles.  There  was  a  rigid  censor- 
ship in  Serbia,  and  all  letters  posted  in  Uskub  had  to  be 
sent  open  to  the  censor's  office  for  transmission.  This 
did  not  please  us  at  all.  It  was  early  in  the  war,  we 
were  still  civilians  with  the  minds  of  civilians,  and  the 
thought  of  any  censor  reading  our  letters  was  most  dis- 
tasteful. It  was  a  feeling  we  never  got  over ;  and  all  the 
time  we  were  there  we  were  constantly  on  the  lookout 
for  some  reliable  messenger  to  take  them  to  Salonika, 
where  they  could  be  posted  without  censorship.  Some- 
times it  was  the  Consul's  kavass,  sometimes  a  passing 
King's  Messenger,  sometimes  a  friendly  British  officer 
travelling  south  from  Nish.  Often  we  were  several 
weeks  without  a  reliable  courier.  Sometimes  we  would 
get  three  in  a  week.  Whenever  any  of  us  heard  of  one 
we  passed  the  information  on  to  the  other  unit.  When- 
ever they  were  sending  a  messenger  they  told  us  and  a 
bag  was  made  up.  It  seemed  to  be  the  usual  thing 
to  do.  The  Consul,  who  had  been  there  in  Turkish 
times,  practically  never  used  the  Serbian  post  office.  It 
reminded  him  too  much  of  the  old  Turkish  service  in 
its  happy-go-lucky  methods. 

Most  of  the  officials  in  the  post  office  were  unable  to 
read  addresses  written  in  Latin  characters.  They  could 
recognise  only  the  curious  bastard  Greek,  known  as 
Cyrillic,  used  by  the  Serbians,  and  with  slight  differences 


72  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

by  the  Russians.  Consequently,  they  soon  got  into  the 
habit  of  sorting  letters  by  the  stamps.  Any  letter, 
therefore,  coming  into  Serbia  with  English  stamps  came 
automatically  to  us,  as  we  were  the  nearest  English  unit 
to  the  frontier;  and  so  we  got  bundles  for  all  sorts  of 
stray  English  people,  loose  in  Serbia,  of  whom  we  knew 
nothing — letters  which  we  had  to  re-direct  as  well  as 
possible,  only  to  find,  as  likely  as  not,  that  they  were 
re-delivered  to  us  again  three  or  four  days  later,  on  the 
logical  grounds  that,  as  they  were  still  addressed  in 
English,  they  must  still  be  for  us. 

The  postmen,  too,  were  equally  haphazard.  They 
delivered  letters  when  they  pleased.  If  an  occasional 
present  was  not  given  to  them  they  used  to  forget  to 
deliver  them  at  all,  allowing  them  to  accumulate  quite 
casually  at  the  post  office  till  someone  called  to  enquire. 
All  these  things  we  discovered  quite  quickly,  so  that, 
about  the  time  we  were  worried  over  our  tobacco,  it 
was  with  great  delight  we  heard  that  a  King's  Messenger 
was  coming  through  from  Sofia,  would  stop  for  the 
night,  and  take  our  precious  letter  with  its  five  pound 
note  safely  to  Salonika. 

The  next  day  was  a  Sunday  (29th  November,  1914). 
There  had  been  flaming  headlines  in  the  local  paper 
about  a  great  victory  over  the  Austrians,  which  we  had 
vaguely  heard  but  did  not  believe.  We  thought  it  was 
the  same  old  story,  the  daily  "  white  lie  "  to  which  we 
became  so  accustomed  in  our  own  Army  bulletins  later 
on.  As  a  matter  of  history  it  was  true.  It  was  the 
beginning  of  the  great  dramatic  sweep  which  took  the 
world  by  surprise  in  December  1914,  when  the  Serbs 
turned  in  the  moment  of  utter  defeat  and  drove  the 
Austrians  once  more  pell-mell  over  the  Danube,  a 
routed,  hopelessly  disgraced  army,  sans  guns,  sans  dis- 
cipline, sans  everything,  leaving  seventy  thousand 
prisoners  behind  them,  leaving  in  addition  the  awful 
curse  which  was  to  cost  us  all  so  dear.  Luckily  we  did 
not  know  of  this  last ;  but  what  we  did  know  was  that. 


SETTLING  DOWN  78 

whether  the  tale  of  victory  was  true  or  not,  there  would 
be  tram  load  after  train  load  of  wounded  coming  in, 
and  we  had  no  room  for  them. 

There  were  two  subsidiary  buildings  close  to  our  Hos- 
pital, and  during  the  afternoon  a  number  of  straw 
mattresses  had  been  laid  down  on  their  floors.  Sher- 
lock, as  usual,  had  been  buzzing  round,  and  found  out 
that  these  were  intended  for  wounded  prisoners  who 
were  expected  to  arrive  that  night.  No  other  prepara- 
tions had  been  possible.  Towards  midnight  they 
arrived,  two  hundred  and  seventy-five  of  them,  and 
somehow  they  were  dumped  into  the  empty  buildings. 
But  there  were  no  doctors  to  look  after  them,  no  facili- 
ties for  treating  them. 

"  It  is  just  as  I  expected,"  said  Sherlock.  "  We'll 
have  to  take  them  on  in  addition  to  our  own.  There's 
no  one  else  to  look  after  them,  and  we  can't  leave  them 
to  die  without  some  attention." 

Of  course  we  did  it  somehow.  We  wandered  round 
with  oil  lamps  in  the  darkness,  picking  out  those  that 
seemed  the  worst.  I  remember  we  were  at  it  most  of 
the  night,  with  the  prospect  of  an  overwhelming  day  in 
our  own  hospital  on  the  morrow.  The  Little  Red 
Woman  worked  like  a  Trojan,  acting,  in  addition,  as  a 
German  interpreter.  One  case  stands  out  clearly  in  my 
mind.  He  had  been  shot  through  both  thighs  and  the 
bladder.  He  was  a  fat,  kindly-looking  man,  a  sergeant 
in  some  cavalry  regiment.  I  can  remember  the  yellow 
braid  on  his  riding-breeches  quite  distinctly,  but  why 
that  stuck  in  my  mind  I  cannot  tell.  He  was  in  intense 
agony,  rolling  about  and  muttering  "  Mein  weib  und 
kinder — mein  weib  und  kinder. ^^ 

When  I  spoke  to  him  in  halting  German  his  face  lit 
up  in  the  most  wonderful  way.  He  felt  he  had  found  a 
friend  at  last,  and  poured  out  a  rapid  tale  to  me,  of 
which,  of  course,  I  could  make  nothing.  Then  the 
Little  Red  Woman  came  to  my  rescue.  Between 
us  we  soothed  him.     It  was  obvious  he  was  dying.     His 


74  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

wounds  were  very  foul,  and  had  not  been  attended  to 
for  a  week.  We  did  what  we  could  to  make  him  com- 
fortable ;  and  I  put  an  orderly  on  specially  to  watch 
him.  But  in  the  middle  of  my  work,  an  hour  later,  I 
heard  him  call  out  loudly,  and  then  become  suddenly 
still.  Running  over  I  found  he  was  dead,  soaked  in 
blood,  a  sudden  secondary  hemorrhage  having  finished 
him.     War  is  a  horrible  thing. 

The  next  day  we  dressed  over  fifteen  hundred  cases. 
Twice  our  bandages  ran  out,  and  twice  we  had  to  send 
to  the  "  Grad  "  (fortress  hospital)  for  more.  All  our 
supplies  came  at  that  time  from  the  "  Grad  " ;  and  the 
Russian  apothecary,  who  was  in  charge  of  the  stores, 
became  suspicious  that  something  was  wrong  when  he 
got  demands  for  over  three  thousand  bandages  in  one 
day.  Accordingly  he  came  down  to  see  us  that  evening 
at  our  quarters.  To  his  surprise  we  were  not  there. 
He  had  to  come  over  to  the  hospital  to  find  us.  "  But, 
sirs,"  he  said  in  his  precise  English.  "  You  do  not 
work  every  day  like  so.  At  the  other  hospitals  they 
finish  at  two  of  the  clock." 

Steve  looked  at  him  pityingly. 

"Say,  Sonny,"  he  said.  "You've  got  the  wrong 
hunch.  This  isn't  a  hospital.  This  is  a  '  dump  ' — 
some  dump,  too,  by  Heck !  " 

The  dapper  little  man  pushed  back  his  peaked  Serbian 
cap,  and  stared  blankly.  "He  means,"  said  I,  "  that 
we  are  so  close  to  the  station  they  dump  every  possible 
walking  case  on  us  in  addition  to  filling  our  beds  with 
compound  fractures.  The  walking  cases  are  cleared  off 
to  Veles  or  Mitrovitza  in  a  day  or  two,  and  their  place 
taken  by  the  next  set.     And  so  we  go  on." 

The  little  man  smiled.  "  Aha.  I  now  understand 
why  so  much  of  bandage  material  is  necessaire.  I 
thought  it  was  stolen  by  the  bolnitchers.  But  no.  It 
is  not.     I  see." 

After  that  we  had  no  difficulty  about  supplies  if  they 
were  anywhere  available. 


SETTLING  DOWN  75 

By  this  time  we  were  beginning  to  evolve  some  order 
out  of  the  chaos.  We  had  worked  out  a  system  of 
numbering  the  beds ;  we  had  a  night  orderly  on  duty ; 
we  had  appointed  Sherlock  physician ;  and  some  of  the 
sestras  had  been  taught  to  take  the  temperature  of 
such  of  the  patients  as  seemed  particularly  feverish. 
Any  temperature  over  104  degs.  F.  was  specially  visited. 
We  could  do  no  more,  for  there  was  an  average  of 
between  seventy  and  a  hundred  even  of  these  amongst 
the  fifteen  hundred  cases  in  the  three  buildings  we  now 
had  charge  of.  All  this  seems  very  primitive  in  the 
retrospect,  when  one  remembers  that  a  temperature  of 
100  worries  everyone  from  the  sister  to  the  surgeon  in 
charge.  But  we  had  a  lot  of  recurrent  fever  with  us  in 
our  hospital,  right  from  the  start,  and  so  soon  got 
accustomed  to  such  stalagmite  temperatures. 

Recurrent  fever  was  a  comparatively  new  disease  to 
us  when  we  arrived.  Most  of  us  had  merely  an 
academic  knowledge  of  it ;  but  before  we  had  finished 
we  knew  more  than  enough  about  it,  as  nearly  all  of  us 
got  it  ourselves.  It  seems  to  be  endemic  in  Serbia. 
During  the  winter  campaign  of  1914  it  became  epidemic, 
and  we  had  several  thousand  cases  through  our  hands  in 
the  first  three  months.  The  Serbs,  following  Contin- 
ental nomenclature,  call  it  Typhus  Recurrens  to  dis- 
tinguish it  from  Typhus  Abdominalis  (our  Typhoid  or 
Enteric),  and  Typhus  Exanthematicus — Black  Typhus, 
or  true  Typhus  as  understood  in  England. 

It  is  caused  by  a  spirillum  and  runs  a  very  typical 
course.  There  is  high  fever,  intense  prostration,  and 
some  delirium  lasting  for  about  a  week.  Then  comes  a 
rapid  fall  of  temperature,  and  a  week  when  the  ther- 
mometer registers  normal  or  subnormal.  This  is  fol- 
lowed by  a  second  and  sometimes  a  third  similar  rise 
and  fall,  till  the  patient  is  reduced  to  a  skeleton,  almost 
too  weak  to  turn  in  bed.  Amongst  ourselves,  at  first, 
we  labelled  it  "  Uskubitis,"  before  we  recognised  the 
cause.     Eventually  we  simply  called  it  "  IT."     It  com- 


7a  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

plicated  things  ronsidorably  for  us,  as  half  our  staff 
were  down  with  it  at  one  time  or  another.  The  general 
opinion  is  that  it  is  carried  from  patient  to  patient  by 
lice.  These  vermin,  of  course,  swarm  in  every 
campaign.  Our  own  men  in  Flanders  suffered  badly 
from  them.  It  can  easily  be  imagined,  therefore,  what 
it  was  like  in  Serl)ia,  especially  in  hospitals  such  as 
ours,  without  water,  without  linen,  where  the  patients 
never  were  washed  at  all,  and  frequently  had  no  clothes 
except  their  ragged,  trench-grimed  uniforms.  Of 
course  we  all  got  infected,  dressing  and  handling  these 
patients.  It  was  inevitable.  I  need  not  enlarge  upon 
it ;  but  it  will  be  obvious  to  the  reader  how  easy  it  was 
to  contract  any  disease  thus  transmitted,  in  an  environ- 
ment such  as  that  in  which  we  had  to  work. 

Every  day  now  we  had  a  fresh  convoy  of  wounded, 
Serbs  and  Austrians.  The  Serbs  themselves  were  a 
mixed  lot,  for,  besides  the  dominant  race,  there  were 
Roumanians,  Vlachs,  Tziganes,  Albanians  fighting  in 
their  army.  But  the  Austrians  were  even  more  mixed. 
They  had  Magyars  (Hungarians),  Czechs,  Slovenes, 
Poles,  Dalmatians,  Croats,  Jews,  Slovaks,  Roumanians, 
Italians  and  Austrians  proper  amongst  them.  Con- 
versation was  a  babel.  Enquiries  as  to  symptoms 
almost  impossible.  The  Hungarians  were  in  the  worst 
plight.  Most  of  them  could  speak  no  language  but  their 
own.  The  Serbs  hated  them  more  than  they  did  the 
Bulgars,  for,  rightly  or  wTongly,  it  was  to  the  Hun- 
garian troops  they  attributed  the  awful  massacres, 
mutilations,  violations,  which  had  occurred  at  Shabatz 
in  N.-W.  Serbia  during  the  Austrian  advance  in 
September  1914. 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  make  any  Serb  orderly  do 
anything  for  a  Hungarian.  They  just  left  them  to  die. 
Many  of  them  seemed  never  to  speak  from  the  time 
they  came  in  until  they  died.  We  found  eventually  it 
was   practically   useless    to    operate    on    them.     They 


SETTLING  DOWN  77 

almost  always  died  afterwards  from  neglect.  Even 
when  we  had  Austrian  orderlies  it  was  much  the  same 
— the  Czechs,  Croats,  and  Austrians  proper  seemed  to 
dislike  them  as  much  as  the  Serbs.  Czechs  and  Croats 
{,'ot  on  quite  well  with  the  Serbs.  They  spoke  prac- 
tically the  same  language,  and  were  indeed  but  another 
branch  of  the  Southern  Slav  race.  Serbian  Roumanians 
from  the  frontier  region  around  Orsava  nearly  all  could 
make  themselves  understood  in  Serbian,  and  could  act 
as  interpreters  for  their  kinsmen  from  Transylvania. 
IJut  they,  too,  seemed  to  hate  the  Magyar.  What  we 
saw  of  these  Roumanians  we  liked.  I  can  still 
remember  one  particular  case.  When  I  saw  him  first  he 
was  sitting,  a  wizened  little  man  with  furtive  eyes, 
crouched  near  the  stove  on  a  mattress  in  our  Number 
Three  Hospital,  wrapped  in  a  dirty  sheepskin  cape, 
wearing  a  dome-shaped  sheepskin  cap  over  his  wrinkled 
old  face,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  the  pictures  of 
Robinson  Crusoe  in  schoolboy  editions  of  Defoe.  When 
the  others  crowded  to  have  their  wounds  dressed  he  did 
iKjt  move.  Instead  he  crouched  dully  nearer  the  lire 
apparently  unconscious  of  those  around  him,  though 
once  or  twice  I  caught  his  beady  eye  watching  me 
cautiously.  I  thought  he  was  probably  one  of  the 
hundreds  of  cases  we  were  now  getting  daily  lal)clled 
*•  fati^atio/'  men  who  were  too  fatigued,  too  worn  out, 
too  footsore,  too  dispirited  to  be  fit  for  any  further 
immediate  military  service,  men  who  were  sent  back, 
therefore,  though  unwounded,  quite  content  to  curl  up 
and  sleep  anywhere  where  there  was  f<j(jd  and  shelter 
from  the  cold,  the  rain,  the  mud,  safe  from  the  racket 
of  shell  fire,  away  from  the  sloppy  trenches  where  their 
feet  got  frozen,  away  from  the  futile  marching  and 
counter-marching — nerve-jangled,  broken  men,  such  as 
later  became  so  painfully  familiar  to  us  amongst  our 
own  troops,  under  the  name  of  "  shell  shock." 

Thinking  he  was  one  of  these,  I  presently  forgot  him 
in  the  interest  of  my  work  ;  and  it  was  probably  an  hour 


78  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

later  when  I  was  reminded  of  him  again.  Apparently, 
from  what  one  of  the  orderlies  told  me  afterwards,  he 
had  wandered  round  dumbly,  watching  the  others  being 
dressed,  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  whether  or  no 
these  strange,  foreign-looking  doctors  in  unfamiliar 
uniform,  talking  a  language  he  did  not  understand, 
were  to  be  trusted.  By  this  time  he  had  quietly  gravi- 
tated to  a  bench  where  I  was  working,  and  taken  his 
place  in  the  row  awaiting  treatment.  All  the  while  he 
waited  he  was  very  quiet,  shifting  forward  as  those  in 
front  of  him  were  done,  until  finally  it  was  his  turn. 
Then  from  the  depths  of  two  or  three  padded  waistcoats 
he  produced  his  wound — a  horrible,  shattered  shoulder 
and  arm,  clotted,  caked,  suppurating,  evidently  a  shell 
wound.  While  I  was  dressing  him  he  must  have 
suffered  excrutiating  pain,  but  his  features  never 
altered,  and  he  uttered  never  a  sound.  When  I  had 
finished  he  raised  his  dark  eyes  a  moment  to  mine. 

"  Soutra  na  savoy  "  (To-morrow  to  be  dressed),  I 
said. 

He  nodded  comprehendingly,  and  shuffled  off. 

The  next  day  and  the  next  I  dressed  him,  still  in 
silence.  By  this  time  I  was  quite  looking  forward  to 
seeing  "  Crusoe,"  as  we  called  him.  He  was  doing 
splendidly.  For  a  few  days  more  he  came,  and  then  I 
missed  him.  He  was  gone,  no  one  seemed  to  know 
where.  Perhaps  he  died  in  the  night — they  often  did. 
Perhaps  he  was  sent  off  in  one  of  the  long,  dreary  troop 
trains,  on  a  jolting  journey  of  many  hours  south,  with 
his  terribly  shattered  arm.  I  cannot  say.  I  hope 
he  pulled  through.  At  any  rate  I  never  saw  him 
again. 

Another  case  I  can  remember  about  then,  was  that  of 
an  Austrian  sergeant,  very  spick  and  span  for  a 
prisoner.  He  had  a  bad  compound  fracture  of  the  left 
leg,  which  I  had  treated  on  arrival.  The  next  day, 
hearing  a  great  commotion  and  much  language  in  the 
dressing-room,    I   went   over   to   find   him    struggling 


SETTLING  DOWN  79 

violently  with  two  of  our  orderlies,  whilst  a  Serbian 
medical  student,  with  a  huge  pair  of  scissors,  was  try- 
ing to  slit  up  his  beautiful  trousers  to  get  at  the  wound. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  me  the  man  ceased  struggling,  and 
everyone  stood  to  attention. 

''  He's  a  perfect  devil,  he  is,  sir.  Can't  make  him 
understand  nohow  that  we've  got  to  dress  him," 
explained  the  orderly  in  an  aggrieved  tone. 

Then  I  saw  what  was  the  matter.  He  had  himself 
carefully  slit  his  trousers  down  the  seam,  fixing  the 
edges  with  tape.  But  the  medical  student,  not  seeing 
this,  had  started  to  slit  them  right  down  the  middle  of 
the  leg,  and  it  was  against  this  he  had  been  protesting 
so  vigorously.  They  were  his  one  and  only  pair;  the 
chances  of  his  ever  getting  another  were  distinctly 
remote;  he  naturally  protested,  and  equally  naturally 
the  Serb  student  and  stolid  British  orderlies,  not  know- 
ing a  word  of  German,  could  make  nothing  of  it. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  we  got  our  first  peep  into 
the  intricacies  of  Balkan  politics.  Serbia  and  Bulgaria 
were  still  ostensibly  at  peace.  Ferdinand  was  still 
apparently  hesitating.  But  it  was  known  to  the 
Austrian  intelligence,  about  the  middle  of  November, 
that  the  Serbs  were  perilously  short  of  shell,  that  the 
French  were  hurrying  large  supplies  to  Salonika,  and 
that  some  of  it  was  already  trickling  up  the  line. 
Salonika  was  full  of  Austrian  spies,  and  naturally  every 
device  was  being  used  by  them  to  prevent  more  getting 
through  until  it  was  too  late.  They  almost  succeeded — 
almost,  but  not  quite.  Had  they  done  so,  nothing 
could  have  prevented  the  onrush  of  the  Austrian  hordes 
to  the  Mediterranean,  and  the  whole  history  of  the  war 
might  have  been  different. 

On  the  night  of  the  30th  November,  four  hundred 
Bulgarian  Komitadgi  rushed  across  the  twelve  miles 
from  the  frontier,  surprised  the  Serb  guard  at  Strum- 
nitza,  blew  up  the  bridges,  and  blocked  the  one  and 


80  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

only  railway  line  for  ten  days.  How  pleased  they  must 
have  been  in  Salonika  that  night. 

But  they  were  just  three  days  too  late.  The  shells 
got  through  on  the  27th,  the  Serbs  turned  dramatically 
on  the  29th,  and  on  the  day  after  the  line  was  blocked 
the  Austrians  were  streaming  in  disordered  retreat  over 
the  Danube,  about  the  same  time  as  the  wounded 
Komitadgi,  intercepted  from  Veles,  were  being  brought 
as  prisoners  to  our  hospital.  It  was  our  first  experience 
of  Bulgarian  prisoners,  and  a  very  favourable  impres- 
sion they  made  on  us.  They  were  fine,  sturdy,  simple- 
minded  fellows,  very  amenable  to  kindness.  We  liked 
them  very  much. 

But  they  had  been  unsuccessful  through  no  fault  of 
their  own,  and  naturally,  of  course,  their  government 
denied  all  knowledge  of  them,  disclaiming  all  official 
responsibility  for  men  not  in  uniform,  and  hinting 
delicately  to  the  Chancellaries  of  Europe  that  they  were 
really  discontented  Macedonians,  sick  of  the  Serbian 
yoke,  foolishly  taking  this  method  of  bringing  their 
grievances  before  the  eyes  of  the  Western  world. 

It  was  a  pretty  comedy  which  no  one  believed,  but 
which  was  gravely  accepted  as  official  whitewash  for  an 
obvious  act  of  war. 

No  one  suffered  except  the  obscure  dead  on  either 
side,  and  the  unfortunate  wounded  living. 

Apart  from  things  like  these,  there  was  much  activity 
at  that  time  in  all  the  Balkan  Embassies,  and  much 
coming  and  going  of  messengers  to  and  from  the 
Foreign  Office ;  for  it  was  hoped  to  drag  the  Greeks  and 
Roumanians  in  on  our  side,  and  possibly  even  the  Bul- 
garians, thus  shutting  off  the  Turks  from  their  allies, 
the  Central  Powers.  On  the  day  after  the  line  was 
broken,  one  of  these  King's  Messengers  arrived  from 
Bucharest  en  route  for  England.  It  was  a  most  in- 
opportune moment,  but  he  was  not  in  the  least 
perturbed. 


SETTLING  DOWN  81 

"  If  I  can  beg,  borrow  or  steal  a  car,  I'll  get  through 
via  Monastir,"  he  said  confidently.  "  The  Serbs  say 
the  road  is  impassable  for  a  motor,  and  that  the  Italian 
Vice-consul  went  over  a  precipice  with  his,  some  months 
ago.  But  I  think  I  can  do  it.  Got  any  letters  you 
want  through  ?" 

I  said  I  had,  and  would  bring  them  round  to  the 
Consulate,  where  he  was  stopping,  that  evening. 
Accordingly,  ten  o'clock  found  me  on  the  doorstep  with 
the  Unit's  mail.  The  Consul's  kavass,  a  huge  Albanian, 
red-fezzed,  fierce-moustached,  baggy-trousered,  silent, 
let  me  in  and  took  me  to  the  smoke  room.  There  I 
found  the  Consul  lounging  back  with  a  pipe,  Professor 
Morrison,  surgeon-in-chief  of  the  Paget  Unit,  sitting  bolt 
upright,  and  the  Messenger,  a  wiry,  grey-haired  man 
with  a  merry  twinkle,  toying  with  a  cigarette  on  the 
divan,  and  telling  funny  stories  of  experiences  in  every 
capital  in  Europe  from  Petrograd  to  Lisbon. 

A  few  moments  before,  I  had  left  the  hospital  with 
its  atmosphere  of  fug  and  wounds  and  crumpled  un- 
washed bodies,  its  dying  and  its  dead.  Now,  as  if 
transported  on  a  magic  carpet,  I  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  fallen  into  the  smoke  room  of  a  St.  James'  Street 
Club  with  all  its  associated  amenities ;  and  I  could 
almost  feel  my  mind  unwrinkling,  expanding,  as,  sunk 
in  an  easy  chair,  I  lay  back  silent,  smoking,  taking  it 
all  in. 

A  large  shaded  lamp  on  a  Turkish  table  inlaid  with 
mother  of  pearl,  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  cast 
a  warm,  subdued  light  over  everyone  and  everything, 
glinted  on  the  damascened  barrels  of  rifles  and  crossed 
scimitars,  played  over  the  bookshelves,  half  lit  half  hid 
the  hanging  tapestries  and  embroideries  on  the  walls, 
glowed  over  priceless  rugs  from  the  depths  of  Asia 
Minor  on  the  floor.  Every  now  and  then  the  kavass 
would  slip  quietly  in,  replenish  the  slow-combustion 
stove  with  wood,  and  as  silently  slip  away  again. 

The  talk  drifted  lightly,  irrelevantly,  as  good  talk 


82  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

should,  from  subject  to  subject.  Reminiscences  of 
Oxford  jumbled  with  those  of  Trebizond,  Aldershot  and 
Crete.  We  talked  of  the  Golden  Horn,  and  the  glories 
of  Brussa,  of  the  Bektashi,  and  the  Corps  of  the 
Janissaries,  of  memorial  brasses  and  Sussex  church 
architecture,  of  the  Paleologi  and  the  present  Greek 
Royal  family,  of  bargaining  for  carpets  in  Damascus, 
and  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Basil,  of  Zionism,  sacramental 
wines  and  the  Daibutzu  at  Kamakura,  of  the  relative 
advantages  of  life  under  the  Turks  and  the  Serbs,  of  any 
and  everything,  except,  I  think,  the  great  war  in  which 
we  were  all  taking  some  more  or  less  inconspicuous  part. 

It  struck  twelve.  Professor  Morrison  had  left  an  hour 
before,  but  still  the  talk  went  on,  neither  the  Consul 
nor  the  King's  Messenger  showing  any  signs  of  wanting 
to  turn  in.  I  had  been  up  since  six-thirty  that  morn- 
ing, done  three  major  operations  before  lunch,  and 
worked  all  the  afternoon  and  evening  until  dinner.  My 
eyes  could  hardly  keep  open  any  longer.  But  the 
thought  of  going  out  into  the  raw  night,  walking  to 
my  cold  soldiers'  quarters,  and  getting  off  my  clothes 
made  me  desperately  loth  to  move.  Finally,  how- 
ever, I  had  to  make  a  supreme  effort  to  get  up.  It  was 
1  a.m.  But  although  the  Messenger  was  due  to  start 
for  Salonika  at  6  a.m.,  I  left  them  still  talking. 

Of  course  the  next  day's  hospital  work  was  a  particu- 
larly heavy  one — The  Little  Red  Woman  developed 
a  high  temperature,  and  Sherlock  ordered  her  to  bed  at 
once,  much  against  her  will,  fearing  that  she  had  got 
Relapsing  Fever.  It  turned  out  to  be  merely  a  hospital 
sore  throat,  and  she  was  about  in  a  day  or  two.  But 
in  the  meanwhile  we  felt  her  loss  immensely,  especially 
as  our  No.  3  Hospital  was  full  up,  and  Sherlock  had 
more  to  do  than  was  humanly  possible. 

By  this  time  we  had  got  rid  of  most  of  our  "  voluntary 
helpers";  but  our  bolnitchers,  unfortunately,  we 
could  not  dispense  with  so  easily,  though  they  were  a 
constant  source  of  annoyance.      One   man   we   found 


SETTLING  DOWN  83 

using  the  Hospital's  glycerine  as  hair  oil,  and  promptly 
dismissed.  Another  had  managed,  somehow,  to  get  a 
supply  of  opium  pills,  and  these  he  doled  out  indis- 
criminately to  any  patient  who  would  buy  them.  Him 
we  had  court-martialled.  Aspirin  and  Tannogen  were 
hawked  round,  but  we  never  caught  the  vendors  red- 
handed.  Permanganate  of  Potash,  of  which  the  supply 
was  very  scanty,  was  systematically  stolen,  until  we 
had  a  special  locker  made  which  could  be  padlocked. 
Petty  annoyances  of  this  nature  kept  cropping  up  con- 
stantly, and  gradually  we  became  philosophic  about 
them.     Somehow  or  other  the  work  went  on. 


CHAPTER  V 
WAR  SURGERY 

Starting  an  operating  theatre — The  Russian  dance  in  tlie  Niglit 
Watches — The  linttle  of  Kuinanovo  and  the  Consul's  dilemma — 
Greeks  and  Bulgars — The  wise  beliaviour  of  a  donkey — How  we 
discovered  the  patisserie- -The  firing  of  Ike  — John  tiic  leg-holder — 
Up  against  small-pox — Trouble  with  the  "  Little  Red  Woman  " 
— The  shadow  of  Typhus — Serbian  funeral  rites — The  joy  of  Mail 
Day. 

DECEMBER  the  First  was  a  red-letter  day  in  our 
calendar,  for  on  that  date  we  started  a  real 
operating  theatre — the  theatre  for  which,  ever 
since  our  arrival,  our  Chief  had  been  working.  How  he 
managed  it  I  do  not  know,  for  our  entire  surgical  equip- 
ment was  comprised  in  the  two  regulation  field  panniers, 
authorised  for  a  Regimental  M.O.,  and  though  these  are 
marvels  of  ingenuity  and  completeness  they  certainly 
are  not  enough  for  a  Stationary  Hospital  of  one 
thousand  beds  such  as  we  were  now  running. 

Considerable  additions  had  therefore  to  be  impro- 
vised ;  and  it  was  here  the  Chief  really  did  well.  Right 
from  the  beginning  he  had  set  his  heart  on  having  a  fit 
place  in  which  to  operate;  and  he  spent  the  first  few 
weeks  thinking  out  plans,  finding  material,  inventing 
substitutes,  striving  to  get  things  done  against  the 
inertia  of  Serb  officialdom  brought  up  on  the  traditional 
Turkish  attitude  of  bland  passive  resistance  to  every- 
thing new. 

First  of  all,  after  a  lot  of  difficulty,  and  by  turning 
out  some  very  indignant  official  from  his  office,  he 
secured  an  excellent  room  with  a  good  top  light  in  the 
administrative  block  close  to  all  three  hospitals,  with 

84 


WAR  SURGERY  85 

another  room  as  an  observation  ward  close  by.  This 
latter  was  left  as  it  was;  but  the  former  was  cleaned, 
disinfected,  painted  white  and  floored  with  linoleum. 
From  somewhere  or  other,  our  Commandant,  Major 
Suskalovitch,  managed  to  unearth  a  real  operating 
table.  So  far  so  good.  Then  came  the  question  of 
light,  for  evening  and  emergency  night  work.  The  so- 
called  electric  light  of  the  town  was  a  miserable 
mockery.  The  current  was  constantly  failing  at  the 
power  station.  This  obviously  was  useless.  Hunting 
in  the  bazaar  with  Ike,  however,  the  Chief  came  across 
a  Jew  who  had  an  incandescent  petrol  lamp  which 
could  be  made  to  work.  Some  sort  of  a  bargain  was 
struck,  the  man  came  and  fitted  it  up  for  approval,  and 
then  when  we  declared  it  satisfactory  sprang  an  exorbi- 
tant price  on  it,  thinking  it  was  indispensible  to  us,  as 
indeed  it  was.  At  the  time  we  thought  it  was  a  plant 
between  our  Ike  and  the  Jew.  At  any  rate  the  Chief 
was  furiously  angry,  and  just  kicked  the  man  out,  bag 
and  baggage.  Then  Ike  discovered  the  man  had  made 
a  mistake.  It  was  another  lamp  he  was  thinking  about, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc.  Eventually  we  got  it  at  a  fairly 
reasonable  price,  and  thus  ended  the  episode.  But  it 
was  a  black  mark  against  Ike  in  our  Chief's  mind,  which 
I  think  was  never  erased. 

By  now  the  theatre  was  nearly  complete,  but  we  had 
no  steriliser.  Great,  therefore,  was  our  joy  when  one 
day  even  that  appeared.  It  looked  all  right,  only  it 
wasn't.  We  never  could  get  up  enough  pressure  to  dry- 
steam  our  dressings.  Everything  came  out  wet  and 
clammy,  and  we  were  unable  to  wear  the  moist  overalls 
or  trust  the  sterility  of  the  dressings.  Thinking  it  over, 
however,  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  after  all 
was  a  secondary  matter.  It  would  have  been  impossible 
to  do  aseptic  surgery  in  any  case,  and  the  necessity  of 
using  antiseptic  methods  was  probably  an  advantage  in 
the  end. 

At  any  rate  we  had  a  theatre  which  really  looked  like 


86  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

a  theatre ;  and  here  the  Chief,  Barclay  and  I  spent  two 
happy  months  very  busily  until  the  great  blight  came. 
I  can  still  remember  with  some  amusement  how,  on  our 
first  day,  the  Chief,  Barclay  and  I  all  felt  we  must 
operate  at  once  on  certain  urgent  cases  that  had  been 
waiting,  totally  forgetting  that  the  hospital  had  to  go 
on,  and  we  could  not  all  three  be  away  on  one  day.  Of 
course,  we  soon  settled  down  to  a  routine  of  alternate 
operating  times;  and  so  the  situation  worked  itself  out. 


Can  you,  with  memories  of  the  feverish  jazzing  mania 
of  1917-18  still  sharp  in  your  mind,  when  the  "  flapper  " 
reigned  supreme,  and  she  and  the  "  one-pipper,"  home 
on  short  leave,  careless  of  to-morrow,  took  possession  of 
the  restaurants — can  you  think  back  to  the  grimness  of 
1914-15,  when  the  first  shock  of  the  great  conflict  was 
on  us,  when  we  gave  up  tennis  and  golf,  dances  and 
theatres,  wore  long  faces,  and  talked  earnestly  of 
patriotism  and  the  purifying  influence  of  war  ? 

If  you  can,  you  will  appreciate  my  feelings  on  the 
night  after  our  theatre  was  started.  I  was  orderly 
officer  that  day,  and  it  was  my  duty  to  make  a  late 
round  to  see  all  the  operation  cases  before  turning  in. 

It  was  cold  and  wet,  silent  and  very  dark,  so  that 
walking  out  of  our  lighted  quarters  down  the  sodden 
path  that  led  through  our  garden  to  the  hospital,  I 
nearly  collided  with  the  pump  before  my  eyes  got 
accustomed  to  the  darkness.  Overhead  was  a  vague 
scurry  of  clouds,  with  here  and  there  a  pale  star  peeping 
out.  To  the  right  the  dark  windows  of  the  closed 
Austrian  Consulate  stared  blankly.  But  on  the  left, 
bright  lights  streaming  from  the  windows  of  the  Russian 
Consulate  cast  broad  paths  across  the  bottom  of  the 
garden,  and  a  sudden  burst  of  Tzigane  music  from  an 
open  window,  light  trills  of  women's  laughter,  the  con- 
fused sound  of  tapping  feet,  spurs,  and  the  frou-frou 
of  silk  told  that  a  dance  was  going  on. 


WAR  SURGERY  87 

It  took  me  completely  by  surprise.  I  felt  suddenly 
chilled,  heart-sick.  The  lightness  of  it  all — the  silver 
plate — the  thick  red  carpet  on  the  stairs — the  polished 
floor — the  wine  and  laughter — the  blue  and  gold 
uniforms — it  all  seemed  so  ghastly  within  ten  yards  of 
the  grim,  silent  hospital  across  the  way.  Looking  back 
on  it  now,  I  recognise  the  foolishness  of  the  feeling. 
One  has  a  right  to  every  legitimate  joy.  Laughter  in 
the  face  of  death  is  a  fair  thing.  The  men  there,  some 
of  the  women  too,  had  already  faced  the  grim  spectre, 
and  were  prepared  with  steady  eyes  to  face  it  again — 
their  after  history  proved  it. 

On  a  half-lit  balcony  I  saw  a  tall  man  in  shadow  bend- 
ing over  someone  slender  in  white,  the  gold  of  his  right 
epaulette  catching  a  glint  as  the  curtain  swayed.  There 
was  youth,  romance,  the  light  that  never  was — .  I 
should  have  seen  it,  but  I  didn't. 

Outside  in  the  road  a  sentinel,  wrapped  in  his  brown 
cloak,  the  hood  like  a  monk's  cowl  well  over  his  ears, 
rifle  at  shoulder,  fixed  bayonet  glinting  dull  grey, 
slouched  past  the  gateway  on  his  sandalled  feet.  At 
the  sound  of  my  tread  on  the  gravel  he  swung  half 
right. 

"  Dobro  vetche,^'  I  called  out  softly. 

"  Dobro  vetche,  gospodin  doktor,^^  he  answered, 
recognising  me  and  tramping  on. 

Under  the  archway  a  side-door  led  into  the  hospital, 
and  through  this  I  slipped  quietly  into  the  cavernous 
interior.  A  charcoal  brazier,  glowing  dull  red  inside  the 
door,  half-lit  the  stooping  figure  of  the  sentry  holding 
his  hands  over  it  for  warmth.  Beyond  him  was  a  feeble 
circle  of  radiance,  on  whose  periphery  the  line  of 
stretchers  holding  the  daily  dead,  wrapped  in  sheets, 
just  showed.  Mechanically  I  counted  eight,  and 
wondered  vaguely  whom  they  were,  so  quiet,  so  very 
still.  As  I  paused  the  faint  strains  of  a  new  com- 
mencing waltz  came  through  the  half-closed  door,  and 
the  eyes  of  the  sentry  showed  glistening  white,  as  his 


88  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

head  turned  slowly  in  the  red  radiance,  listening.  He 
had  taken  no  notice  when  I  came  into  the  building,  and 
now  he  equally  ignored  me  when  I  closed  the  door 
abruptly,  and  turned,  flashlight  in  hand,  to  climb  the 
wooden  staircase  at  the  end. 

On  the  first  floor  everyone  was  asleep,  every  window 
was  shut,  and  the  hot  vitiated  air  of  three  hundred 
breathing  men  caught  at  my  throat  with  a  physical 
nausea.  On  the  second  floor  the  night  orderly  met  me 
at  the  stair-head,  and  whispered  that  there  was  a  man 
with  a  fractured  femur  who  was  threatening  secondary 
hemorrhage.  Together  we  moved  through  the  rows  of 
sleeping  men,  curled  up  in  every  position.  A  few 
blinked  feverishly  in  the  light  of  the  orderly's  lamp,  and 
held  out  thin  hands  for  something,  I  knew  not  what.  A 
few  sat  smoking  round  a  stove  half-way  down  the  ward. 

Over  in  the  corner  of  row  D  a  man  lay  dying.  A 
burning  candle  had  been  placed  alongside  his  bed,  as 
was  the  Serbian  custom,  in  order  that  the  soul  of  the 
departing  might  have  a  light  to  guide  it  on  its  transit 
from  the  worn-out  earthly  tabernacle  to  the  gates  of  the 
Celestial  City. 

It  is  a  custom  older  than  Christianity,  and  oddly 
enough  seemed  to  make  the  other  patients  happier. 
They  had  all  seen  death  so  often  close  at  hand  that  for 
them  there  was  no  fear  left.  Some  of  them,  maimed 
yet  recovering,  I  thought,  almost  envied  their  fellow 
who  was  dying.  I  looked  at  the  pale  face  in  the  candle- 
light. The  hollow  eyes  stared  dully  towards  the  roof. 
The  feeble  pulse  fluttered  threadily.  His  hands  felt 
like  ice. 

"  I  have  given  him  some  cognac,  sir,"  said  the 
orderly.  "  I  wish  there  was  some  way  of  getting  beef- 
tea  or  hot  milk,  but  there  doesn't  seem  to  be." 

Of  course  I  knew  all  that,  and  the  apparent  impos- 
sibility of  altering  things.  No  food  was  given  out 
between  6  p.m.  and  7  a.m.  It  was  not  the  custom,  and 
try  as  we  could  it  was  not  possible  to  arrange  it  other- 


WAR  SURGERY  89 

wise  at  first.  Indeed,  if  we  had  had  beef-tea  there  was 
no  way  of  heating  it.  There  were  no  hot  bottles  to 
place  around  the  patients'  Hmbs,  no  feeding  cups, 
nothing.  I  would  have  given  almost  everything  I 
possessed  at  that  time  to  have  had  half-a-dozen  clean 
English  nurses,  but  it  would  have  been  like  crying  for 
the  moon.  We  must  have  lost  hundreds  of  cases  simply 
from  lack  of  nursing  and  the  most  elementary  hospital 
appliances.  And  yet  from  the  Serbian  standpoint  we 
were  doing  excellently  well.  These  were  the  exigencies 
of  war.  They  were  accustomed  to  nothing  better. 
And,  as  our  Commandant,  Major  Suskalovitch,  pointed 
out,  even  with  all  our  handicaps  we  were  able  to  pass 
seven  thousand  through  our  hospital  in  two  and  a  half 
months,  of  whom  over  two  thousand  were  pronounced 
fit  for  the  firing  line  again.  Our  death-rate,  too,  was 
under  ten  per  cent. ;  and  the  vast  majority  of  our  COO- 
TOO  deaths  were  compound  fractured  femurs,  who  would 
never  again  have  been  able  to  fight  for  the  Fatherland, 
but  instead  would  have  been  a  constant  handicap  on 
their  families  had  they  survived. 

It  was  a  cold-blooded  way  of  looking  at  things ;  but 
in  a  great  war,  whose  end  no  one  could  see,  it  was  a  very 
practical  one.  At  the  time  it  struck  me  as  inhuman. 
I  was  new  to  it  all.  But  our  white-haired,  benevolent 
old  Major,  who  had  been  through  four  campaigns, 
though  full  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  believed  that 
the  sick  and  wounded  were  nothing  more  than  an 
incubus,  that  the  sole  duty  of  the  military  surgeon  was 
to  get  them  out  of  the  way  of  manoeuvring  troops,  patch 
up  and  return  as  many  as  possible  to  the  firing  line, 
and  relegate  the  rest  to  be  looked  after  in  places  as 
remote  from  the  scene  of  hostilities  as  could  be  made 
convenient. 

Looking  back  now  after  five  years  of  it,  I  recognise 
that  his  views,  though  incomplete,  contained  a  large 
element  of  truth. 

What  he  had  forgotten,  or  never  appreciated,  was 


90  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

that  the  first  duty  of  the  military  medical  officer  is  to 
prevent  disease  in  the  fighting  line,  for  disease  has 
always  killed  more  than  wounds  in  every  campaign  up 
to  the  present.  We  lost  ninety  thousand  men  from 
disease  in  the  South  African  War,  and  twenty  thousand 
from  wounds.  It  has  been  the  prevention  of  disease 
that  has  marked  out  this  war  from  every  other. 
Millions  of  men  have  been  saved  by  it  who  would  other- 
wise have  died.  If  the  Serbs  had  been  able  to  grasp 
this,  it  is  probable  their  country  never  would  have  been 
overrun ;  and  certainly  they  would  have  been  saved 
from  one  of  the  most  ghastly  epidemics  in  history.  In 
the  light  of  later  knowledge,  however,  one  can  not  really 
blame  them  for  this,  when  one  remembers  that  they 
had  just  emerged  exhausted  from  two  wars,  the  Turkish 
of  1912,  the  Bulgarian  of  1913,  and  had  less  than  four 
hundred  doctors  when  the  third  and  greatest  took  them 
totally  unprepared. 

Coming  out  from  the  hospital  after  I  had  seen  my 
operation  cases,  I  found  that  the  wind  had  fallen  and  a 
flicker  of  snow  was  beginning  to  powder  the  ground.  A 
desire  to  escape  for  a  little  from  the  smell  of  antiseptics, 
a  nostalgia  for  the  normalities  of  social  life  assailed  me 
suddenly.  I  hated  going  back  to  my  quarters ;  and  so, 
turning  to  the  right  I  walked  the  few  yards  that  brought 
me  to  the  British  Consulate,  sure  of  a  welcome — for  it 
seems  the  understood  thing  that  our  Consuls  in  the  "  out 
places  "  should  play  host  to  any  wandering  Briton  with 
decent  credentials. 

I  found  the  Consul  in  his  warm,  comfortable  smoking 
room  with  another  of  the  frequent  coming  and  going 
King's  Messengers.  Curiously  enough,  as  I  quietly 
effaced  myself  on  the  divan,  I  found  them  talking  of 
this  apparently  widespread  faith  in  the  protection  and 
hospitality  of  the  British  flag. 

"  You  remember  the  battle  of  Kumanovo  in  1912," 
said  the  Consul.  "  It  was  the  defeat  of  the  Turks  there 
that   gave   Northern   Macedonia   to   the   Serbs.      It's 


WAR  SURGERY  91 

twenty  miles  from  here,  and  I  remember  it  well,  for  I 
had  exactly  two  hundred  and  twenty  people  claiming 
protection  in  this  house  after  it.  They  just  flowed  in 
and  squatted.  They  drove  me  out  of  every  room  except 
the  bathroom.  The  Turks  lost  their  heads  completely 
after  their  defeat." 

"  Why  didn't  they  hold  the  Tzarnagora,  and  attempt 
to  defend  the  Vardar  ?"  said  the  Messenger,  with  a 
soldier's  professional  interest. 

"  Dunno.  They  fought  quite  well  at  first,  and  then 
suddenly  panicked.  Their  army  streaked  through  here 
like  lightning,  making  for  Salonika  and  safety.  The 
Serbs  might  have  walked  straight  in  and  captured  the 
place  the  same  day,  for  Uskub  is,  as  everyone  knows, 
the  key  to  Macedonia.  They  never  thought  for  a 
moment  the  Turks  wound  abandon  it  without  a  struggle, 
for  naturally  its  fall  cut  off  the  retreat  of  the  army  de- 
fending the  Sanjak  of  Novibazar  from  Mitrovitza.  Of 
course  they  expected  to  have  to  fight  for  it,  and 
advanced  slowly  throwing  out  vedettes.  It  was  an 
unholy  time.  For  two  days  there  was  nothing  but  mob 
law,  and  the  Albanians  looted  wealthy  Turkish  houses 
with  impunity.  It  was  that  that  filled  my  bachelor 
quarters  to  overflowing  with  terrified  veiled  females, 
clutching  their  jewellery." 

For  a  moment  he  paused  to  light  a  pipe  filled  with  the 
awful  contraband  tobacco  of  the  country,  which  he 
smoked  and  said  he  liked. 

"  How  did  it  all  end  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh.  The  foreign  Consuls  got  together  in  a  body 
and  went  out  to  meet  the  Serbs.  There  were  no  Turkish 
officials  left  to  surrender  the  town,  so  we  did  it  for 
them." 

The  next  day  we  had  a  fresh  convoy  from  the  front ; 
and  now  that  our  theatre  was  in  working  order  the 
Serbian  officials  began  to  give  us  what  they  called  more 
serious  cases.     Instead  of  wounds  of  the  limbs  we  began 


92  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

to  get  head  injuries,  gunshot  wounds  of  the  chest,  and 
more  and  more  compound  fractured  femurs.  The 
number  of  abdominal  injuries  that  passed  through  our 
hospital  then  and  afterwards  was  surprisingly  few.  I 
think  it  was  the  same  at  first  on  most  of  the  fronts 
before  hand-to-hand  fighting  started  and  high  explosives 
became  common.  No  doubt  a  large  number  of  abdo- 
minal injuries  are  immediately  fatal,  and  that  may 
partially  account  for  their  scarcity  in  hospital,  but  also 
in  modern  fighting  the  abdomen  is  comparatively 
sheltered,  head  and  arm  injuries  being  more  common  in 
trench  warfare.  On  our  front,  men  lying  in  the  open 
between  rushes  were  very  liable  to  shrapnel  wounds  in 
the  back,  and  even  in  rapid  advances  it  was  generally 
the  lower  limbs  that  suffered,  owing  to  the  low  trajec- 
tory of  modern  rifles  fired  by  men  in  trenches.  Indeed, 
most  of  our  abdominal  cases  were  bayonet  wounds 
which  had  not  proved  immediately  fatal. 

Talking  it  over  with  our  white-haired  old  Comman- 
dant, I  remember  him  saying  that  one  of  the  things 
that  struck  him,  after  Kumanovo,  was  the  high  propor- 
tion of  gunshot  wounds  of  the  abdomen  amongst  the 
Turkish  prisoners. 

"  The  Turk,"  he  said,  "  is  a  very  brave  man,  but  he 
was  not  properly  trained  in  the  first  Balkan  War.  He 
fought  standing  up.  He  did  not  know  how  to  take 
cover.  We  defeated  him,  but  he  is  still  a  very  brave 
man,  and  the  Schwab  (German)  has  taught  him.  I  do 
not  despise  the  Turk  as  I  do  the  miserable  Greek." 

"  You  do  not  like  the  Greek,  Major  ?" 

"  The  Greek  !  No.  He  is  a  friend,  he  says,  but  I 
doubt  it.  The  Greek  is  cunning.  He  fights  with  his 
tongue.  He  says  he  is  our  friend,  but  was  it  not 
Vergilius  who  said  :  '  Timeo  Danaos  et  dona  ferentes?^ 
The  Greek.     No." 

"  And  the  Bulgar,  Major  ?" 

"Ah,  the  Bulgar!  We  hate  the  Bulgar.  The 
Bulgar  hates  us.     It  is  so.     It  has  always  been  so.     It 


WAR  SURGERY  98 

always  will  be  so.  We  are  natural  enemies.  There  is 
no  room  in  the  Balkans  for  a  greater  Serbia,  and  a 
greater  Bulgaria.  The  Tzar  himself  has  said  it.  You 
people  of  the  West,  you  say  '  be  friends.'  But  you  do 
not  understand.  It  is  impossible.  The  Bulgar  is  a 
brave  man.  We  do  not  despise  him  as  we  do  the  Greek. 
But  we  do  not  fear  him.     No." 

This  conversation,  you  will  remember,  was  in 
December  1914.  The  old  man  smiled  at  me,  we  saluted 
mutually,  and  he  went  upstairs  to  see  the  Little  Red 
Woman,  who  was  still  on  the  sick  list,  and  was  waiting 
impatiently  for  his  leave  to  get  up  again. 


That  day  we  had  a  very  heavy  programme,  both  in 
the  theatre  and  in  the  hospital.  The  patients  seemed 
to  be  endless.  We  were  almost  at  our  wits'  ends.  The 
Matron  of  the  Paget  Unit  came  round  to  see  our  work. 
Even  though  she  was  an  old  hospital  sister  of  mine,  I 
could  give  her  only  an  occasional  word,  time  was  so 
precious.  They  came  to  tell  me  that  one  of  the  new 
admissions  was  dying.  I  looked  at  the  endless  waiting 
queue  and  tore  myself  away.  Miss  Rowntree,  the 
Matron,  accompanied  me  down  the  dirty  ward,  littered 
with  the  refuse  of  two  or  three  days,  picking  her  steps 
with  raised  skirts. 

"  But  this  is  awful,"  she  said.  "  None  of  these  beds 
seem  ever  to  have  been  made." 

"  They  haven't,"  I  answered.  ''  We  have  no  sheets 
to  put  on  them,  and  no  nightshirts  to  change  the  men 
out  of  their  dirty  uniforms.  I  wish  I  had  you  and 
twenty  nurses." 

"  But  why  didn't  the  Red  Cross  people  give  you 
nurses  ?" 

*'  Oh,  us.  They  sent  us  out  as  a  Field  Unit.  It's  not 
the  fault  of  the  Red  Cross  that  we've  been  turned  into 
a  Stationary  Hospital,  that  we've  got  more  patients  on 
this  floor  than  you  have  in  your  entire  hospital  with 


94  MY  BALKAN  LOG 


J) 


your  seventy  nurses  and  orderlies.     It's  just  our  luck, 
I  said,  rather  peevish  from  overwork. 

"  I  wonder  if  they  would  let  me  give  you  a  hand," 
she  said  thoughtfully. 

That  made  me  feel  ashamed.  Women,  particularly 
nurses,  are  rather  wonderful  people.  I  was  sorry  I  had 
seemed  to  complain.  We  really  were  enjoying  it  in  a  way. 

"  Oh,  you.  You've  got  your  own  work  to  do ;  and  we 
can  manage  all  right  in  a  Serbian  way.  Don't  bother 
about  us." 

"  Still—  "  she  said  thoughtfully. 

The  patient,  a  wounded  Serb,  shot  through  the  right 
lung,  was  at  the  far  end  of  the  ward.  They  had  put  a 
lighted  taper  in  his  hand — the  last  attention  to  the 
dying.  The  wound  of  entry  in  his  chest  had  closed,  but 
the  opening  in  the  lung  was  allowing  air  to  escape 
between  the  broken  ribs  underneath  the  skin  of  the  chest 
wall,  and  every  time  he  breathed  more  and  more  air 
escaped,  spreading  upwards  and  downwards  over  his 
body,  so  that  when  we  saw  him  he  was  like  an  advertise- 
ment of  Michelin  tyres. 

Everywhere  we  touched  him  his  skin  crackled  like 
brown  paper.  The  air  had  spread  up  his  neck  on  to  his 
face,  burying  his  mouth  and  eyes.  His  chest  was  enor- 
mous, his  abdomen  like  a  great  balloon.  He  looked  as 
if  he  could  almost  float  off.  He  was,  in  fact,  the  most 
extreme  case  of  "surgical  emphysema"  I  have  ever  seen. 
But  his  pulse,  breathing,  and  temperature  were  all  quite 
good.  I  therefore  sent  for  the  interpreter  and  bade  him 
tell  the  man  he  was  in  no  immediate  danger  of  dying, 
and  might  dispense  with  his  candle.  Everyone  around 
was  shocked.  No  one  would  believe  me.  But  they 
were  most  polite  about  it.  In  deference  to  me  they 
removed  the  candle — at  least  while  I  was  there.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  he  did  recover.  I  operated  on  him  for  an 
empyema  later,  and  he  was  one  of  the  most  grateful 
patients  I  ever  had. 


WAR  SURGERY  95 

When  Sister  Rowntree  left  us  that  evening,  she 
reiterated  her  wish  to  help  us ;  and,  remembering  what 
a  first-class  theatre  sister  she  was,  I  suggested  she  might 
get  leave  to  help  us  occasionally  in  the  afternoons  at  our 
operations.  But  plans,  like  eggs,  have  a  habit  of  failing 
to  hatch.  The  next  day  we  heard  she  was  down  with 
Relapsing  Fever,  so  for  the  time  we  had  to  struggle  on 
alone,  with  the  consequence  that  our  two  theatre 
orderlies  got  overworked,  and  linally  i)oth  went  sick 
with  Relapsing  Fever  also. 

Half  our  unit  had  it  by  this  time;  and,  in  athlition, 
the  hospital  work  seemed  more  and  more  unending. 
We  worked  all  day,  and  still  there  were  people  to  dress. 
The  operation  cases  needed  more  and  more  attention  as 
Ihey  increased  in  number.  When  we  cleared  the  Dress- 
ing Room  and  went  down  the  wards  to  look  at  some- 
thing, we  found  on  our  return  that  in  some  mysterious 
way  the  room  had  lilled  up  again.  Even  with  three 
hospitals  on  our  hands,  with  a  thousand  beds  and  fifteen 
hundred  patients  in  them,  it  seemed  to  us  we  nmst  be 
doing  more. 

It  was  quite  accidentally  we  discovered  the  reason. 
There  were  fourteen  inns— so-called  Hotels — in  the 
town,  and  these  the  authorities  had  filled  with  **  Ambu- 
latory cases,"  men  with  gunshot  wounds  of  arms, 
shoulders,  hands.  Theoretically  the  men  in  these 
should  have  been  distributed  over  all  the  hospitals  in 
the  town.  Practically,  they  all  came  to  us,  because,  we 
discovered,  the  hospitals  manned  by  Greek  and  other 
foreign  doctors  closed  down  at  three  in  the  afternoon. 
For  a  day  or  so  we  said  nothing.  Then,  more  wounded 
coming  in,  the  Cinema  House  was  commandeered,  a 
thousand  packed  into  it,  and  we  were  asked  to  take 
charge.     That  did  us. 

We  had  already  been  working  seven  days  a  week  for 
four  weeks,  from  9  a.m.  to  8  p.m.  daily ;  six  of  the  unit 
were  now  down  with  Relapsing  Fever,  and  the  rest  were 
on  the  verge  of  exhaustion. 


96  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

We  knew  that  the  Serb  and  Russian  doctors  were  also 
working  at  full  pressure,  but  most  of  the  foreign  doctors 
in  Serbian  pay  were,  comparatively  speaking,  merely 
marking  time. 

We  felt  that  what  was  needed  was  a  re-distribution 
of  work,  that  we  had  been  overloaded  simply  because 
we  were  near  the  station,  and  it  was  fatally  easy  to 
dump  cases  on  us. 

And  so,  when  they  asked  us  to  take  over  the  Cinema 
as  well,  we  struck.  We  said  we  would  carry  on  our 
three  hospitals,  and  dress  extra  cases  up  to  7  p.m. 
More  we  could  not  do.  Even  this  was  an  impossible 
task — four  doctors  and  six  orderlies  to  run  a  show 
nearly  twice  as  large  as  the  London  Hospital — but  in 
war  one  does  impossible  things. 

It  was  a  Saturday  when  things  came  to  this  climax. 
For  a  wonder  no  ambulance  train  had  come  in  that  day. 
And  to  celebrate  this  we  decided  that  two  doctors  and 
four  orderlies  should  have  the  Sunday  afternoon  off, 
whilst  the  rest  carried  on  in  their  absence. 

Lots  were  drawn  for  this  our  first  half  holiday,  and  it 
was  with  quite  astonishing  pleasure  I  found  that 
Barclay  and  I  were  the  favoured  ones.  We  were  free 
for  four  long,  glorious  hours.  It  was  like  being  a 
schoolboy  again. 

Uskub  lies  at  the  apex  of  a  broad  triangular  plain 
bounded  on  the  north-east  and  north-west  by  moun- 
tains, open  towards  the  south.  Through  this  plain 
flows  the  Vardar.  The  town  itself  lies  close  to  the 
north-western  mountain  chain,  and  day  by  day  we  had 
looked  at  Gornovaldo,  the  mountain  opposite  us, 
watched  the  snow  creeping  lower  and  low  er,  and  felt  the 
desire  to  climb  up  into  the  purity  of  it  all  grow  more 
and  more  insistent.  So  when  Barclay  and  I  started  off 
that  afternoon  we  made  for  the  mountain  instinctively. 

A  winding  path  led  over  the  railway  amongst  the 
maize  fields.  It  was  a  sea  of  mud  at  first,  but  we  had 
by    now   become    accustomed    to    Serbian    mud,    and 


WAR  SURGERY  97 

sauntered    through    it    in    our   high    gum    boots    quite 
unconcernedly. 

Presently  we  overtook  a  donkey  with  a  wooden  pack- 
saddle  loaded  with  two  full  saddle  bags,  a  water  gourd, 
and  a  large  red  amphora  such  as  wine  is  carried  in.  The 
amphora  was,  I  think,  empty.  We  judged  so  because 
the  owner  of  the  donkey,  a  venerable-looking  old 
peasant,  was  lying  prone  in  the  nmd,  drunk  as  a  tiddler, 
the  donkey  was  looking  on  contemplatively,  and  two 
younger  men,  humorously  patient,  were  trying  to  get 
the  ancient  gentleman  on  his  feet  again. 

The  donkey  evidently  was  used  to  the  vagaries  of  its 
owner,  for  every  time  he  staggered  on  a  few  steps  it 
followed.  When  he  fell  it  cocked  one  ear,  looked  at  him 
sideways  and  stoj)j)ed.  When  he  regained  his  feet  it 
started  once  more,  completely  understanding.  The 
trio  and  the  donkey  were  progressing  at  the  rate  of 
about  half  a  mile  an  hour,  making  evidently  for  one  of 
the  two  villages  perched  precipitously  on  the  mountain 
side.     We  left  them  at  it. 

As  we  progressed  the  road  grew  steeper,  rough  rolling 
stones  now  took  the  place  of  mud,  and  the  track  grew 
more  and  more  winding.  Hooded  men,  sandalled, 
wrapped  in  heavy  sheepskin  coats  passed  us  occasion- 
ally, coming  down.  Some  of  them  had  donkeys,  and 
strode  alone.  Others  came  in  groups  of  two  or  three 
with  an  occasional  woman.  But  all  of  them  were  arnied 
with  a  slung  rifle,  and  each  of  them  scrutinized  us 
sharply  as  he  passed,  for  we  were  in  unsettled  country 
as  soon  as  we  left  the  shelter  of  the  town ;  bands  of 
roving  *'  Komitadgi,"'  Bulgar,  Serb,  Albanian,  were 
constantly  on  the  move  in  this  area,  and  it  behoved  each 
man  to  be  prepared  to  meet  an  enemy  at  any  turn  of  the 
road. 

A   mist   had   all   the   while   been   creeping   over  the 

mountain  side,  and  soon  we  found  it  was  impossible  to 

see    for    more    than    twenty    yards.      Ghostly    figures 

appeared  suddenly  out  of  the  gloom,  the  winding  turns 

G 


98  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

became  more  and  more  confusing,  and  once  or 
twice  we  wandered  completely  off  the  track.  Occa- 
sionally the  tinkle  of  a  sheep  bell  told  that  a  flock 
was   near. 

Quite  suddenly  we  tumbled  on  a  square  building 
which  we  had  previously  seen  with  glasses  from  the 
town,  and  had  been  told  was  an  old  Turkish  magazine. 
A  hoarse  challenge  rang  out.  We  heard  the  click  of  a 
rifle. 

"  Friends.  English  doctors,"  we  called  out  hurriedly 
in  Serbian.  A  sentry,  quickly  followed  by  another, 
now  loomed  up  dimly  enormous.  We  stood  quite  still, 
and  they  approached  us  cautiously.  Apparently  what 
they  saw  satisfied  them,  for  they  came  to  the  salute, 
turned  and  disappeared. 

"  I  think,"  said  Barclay,  quietly,  "  we'd  better  get 
back.  We  might  strike  another  sentry  not  so 
amenable." 

But  it  was  much  darker  now.  We  found  the  track 
very  difficult  to  see.  The  turns  looked  different  some- 
how. Still,  we  knew,  if  we  kept  on  descending  we 
must  strike  the  railway  line  to  Mitrovitza  somewhere. 
We  did  reach  it  eventually ;  but  before  doing  so  we 
nearly  collided  with  a  stationary  object  in  the  middle  of 
the  road.  It  was  our  old  friend  the  donkey,  still  stick- 
ing close  to  its  inebriated  owner,  who,  now  deserted  by 
his  companions,  had  got  about  a  mile  further  on  his 
way  home. 

Arriving  at  our  headquarters,  tired,  happy,  but  very 
hungry,  we  found  to  our  surprise  that  the  others  had 
already  stopped  work — a  strike  amongst  the  women 
bandage  rollers  having  made  dressing  after  four  o'clock 
impossible — and  Stretton,  Steve,  Sherlock  and  the 
Little  Red  Woman  accordingly  were  seated  round 
the  stove  in  the  Salon  talking  shop  before  tea. 

There  was  a  brown  paper  parcel  on  the  table  close  to 
the  lamp. 


WAR  SURGERY  99 

"  Say,  I  give  you  three  guesses  what's  in  that,''  said 
Steve,  excitedly. 

•*  Give  it  up,"  I  answered  promptly.  I  always  give 
things  up.  It  is  an  invariable  principle  of  mine  not  to 
anticipate. 

''  Well.  I've  made  a  discovery — some  discovery. 
Why,  there's  actually  a  candy  shop  in  this  one-horse 
town." 

'*  What  ?"  I  said,  incredulously. 

"  Sure  thing.  D'ye  know.  Father,  tlu'  fillow  lutually 
makes  cakes  and  jam,  and  sells  chocolate.  His 
pastries  arc  right  hang-up  confectionery.  I've  got 
some  mighty  good-looking  samples  in  that  parcel  wait- 
ing for  Charlie  to  say  tea  is  ready." 

Looking  back  on  it  now  it  all  seems  so  trivial,  but  1 
can  still  remember  how  excitedly  pleased  we  were  at  the 
discovery,  for  it  was  a  matter  of  real  first-class  import- 
ance to  us. 

To  be  deprived  of  jam  and  butter,  and  the  other  small 
amenities  of  life,  may  seem  of  no  importance  to  those 
who  have  never  experienced  the  lack  of  them.  In  the 
presence  of  the  greater  discomforts  of  campaigning  it 
may  seem  absurd.  But  in  reality  it  is  not  so,  for  there 
is  nothing  one  misses  so  much  on  active  service  as  the 
minor  comforts;  and  under  such  conditions  one's  appe- 
tite for  sweet  things  becomes  as  eager  and  unspoiled  as 
that  of  a  child. 

When  we  discovered,  therefore,  that  there  was  a 
patisserie  in  the  town,  in  the  main  street,  not  ten 
minutes'  walk  from  us,  it  was  as  if  someone  had  left  us 
a  gold  mine. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  few  days  every  one  of  us, 
I  think,  paid  a  visit  to  it,  and  came  back  laden  with 
chocolates,  preserved  fruits,  biscuits — things  which  in 
ordinary  life  we  would  never  have  thought  of  buying  at 
home.  The  little  Greek  proprietor  soon  got  to  know  us 
all  by  sight,  and  with  the  adaptability  of  his  race  took 


100  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

the  trouble  to  learn  sufficient  English  to  greet  us,  figure 
out  our  bills,  and  thank  us  on  our  (lej)arture. 

The  discovery,  trivial  as  it  may  seem,  added  enor- 
mously to  our  comfort,  made  us  much  more  good 
tempered,  brightened  our  outlook  on  life  in  the  most 
absurd  manner. 

There  is,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  an 
entire  volume  on  psychology  in  the  explanation  of 
this. 

All  during  the  next  week  wc  were  inundated  with 
refugees,  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  civilian  popula- 
tion sent  back  from  the  devastated  areas,  south  of  the 
Danube,  as  they  were  cleared  of  the  retreating 
Austrians.  They  came  as  fast  as  the  congested  single 
line  from  Nish  would  allow.  Every  night,  about  eight, 
a  long  packed  train  would  arrive  full  of  these  refugees, 
with  pitiful  small  bundles  containing  all  they  had  been 
able  to  save  from  the  wreck  of  their  homes.  Ike,  our 
interpreter,  had  left  his  "  woman,"  as  he  called  her, 
in  Belgrade.  He  was  very  anxious,  therefore,  to  find 
out  whether  she  was  one  of  them,  and  each  night  he 
searched  the  train  diligently,  always  to  return  un- 
successful. 

"  What  luck,  Ike?"  I  said  one  evening. 

"  My  woman  has  not  come,"  he  answered,  gloomily. 

*'  It  must  make  you  very  anxious." 

He  stared  at  me  with  his  piercing  brown  eyes. 

"  You  bet.     I  want  to  know  if  she's  dead." 

"  But  why?"  I  said,  rather  surprised  at  his  tone. 

"Because  if  she  is  I'd  like  to  get  another,"  he 
answered  unexpectedly. 

How  much,  or  what  he  really  meant  by  the  remark, 
I  could  not  then  or  afterwards  determine,  for  he  had  a 
queer  twisted  sense  of  humour  peculiarly  his  own. 

In  his  way  he  was  a  most  remarkable  man.  His 
vitality  was  immense.  It  was  quite  impossible  to 
repress  him.       Considering  that  he  was  an  Austrian 


WAR  SURGERY  101 

suspect,  the  way  he  stood  up  to  the  Serbian  ottieials  was 
remarkable.  The  power  he  soon  acquired  over  our 
personnel,  too,  was  quite  striking.  Charlie,  our  fat 
Maltese  cook,  was  a  child  in  his  hands.  The  "  White 
Rabbit,"  our  second  interpreter,  was  palpably  afraid 
of  him.  Franz,  our  smiling  soldier  servant,  hated  the 
very  sight  of  him.  None  of  us  liked  him,  but  we  found 
him  indispensible.  If  we  wanted  anything,  he  got  it 
when  everyone  else  failed.  We  tlistrusteil  him  pro- 
foundly, and  \et  we  had  to  trust  him.  He  was  a 
splendid  interpreter,  but  he  had  a  way  of  domineering 
over  patients  that  made  us  use  him  as  little  as  possible, 
for  It  was  not  pleasing  to  see  him  hectoring  men  who 
had  been  broken  fighting  for  their  country  against  the 
nation  to  whicli  he  iK'longed. 

The  mistake  he  made  eventually  was  due  to  a  miscon- 
ception of  the  character  of  the  Scot,  liecause  our  Chief 
was  a  slow-thinking  man  he  thought  he  could  take 
liberties  with  him.  He  had  not  graspid  the  fact  that 
these  slow  Scotsmen,  when  they  have  made  up  their 
minds,  have  a  way  of  acting  with  explosive  energy, 
especially  when  goaded  by  the  feeling  that  the 
more  quick-witted  person  is  trying  to  take  an 
advantage. 

There  comes  a  period  when  even  an  indispensible  man 
must  be  got  rid  of.  What  he  did,  we  never  troubled  to 
eiujuire.  Rut  there  was  a  row;  he  went  out  that  night 
taking  the  cook  with  him;  and  they  both  got  gloriously 
tight.  Next  morning  he  was  lired.  Then  he  dis- 
appeared from  our  ken  for  a  space.  How  much  he 
managed  to  loot  from  us  we  never  found  out.  Wc  did 
hear  that  he  had  stripped  several  of  the  prisoners  of 
war,  representing  that  he  was  a  Red  Cross  worker 
under  us,  and  so  inducing  them  to  entrust  their 
jealously-guarded  valuables  to  him  for  safe  keeping. 

What  he  did,  how  he  managed  to  exist  subsequently, 
was  a  matter  of  speculation  to  us  for  months  afterwards. 
He   left   a   mark   on   all   our  memories.        None  of  us 


102  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

thought  we  had  done  with  him  finally.  We  all 
felt  we  should  have  to  deal  with  him  again  sooner 
or   later. 

The  man  we  got  immediately  afterwards  was  a  failure. 
He  was  a  Dalmatian  and  so  technically  an  Austrian 
subject,  had  learnt  his  English  in  America,  and  was 
quite  a  competent  interpreter.  But  he  had  a  habit  of 
going  over  to  the  mess  when  we  were  out,  and  of  wan- 
dering casually  into  our  quarters,  giving  some  ostensible 
message  when  he  found  them  occupied,  that  was  rather 
puzzling.  Then  we  began  to  miss  things.  Eventually 
his  history  came  to  our  ears.  He  was  a  well-known 
thief.  Then  he  disappeared,  taking  Sherlock's  English 
passport  with  him,  much  to  the  perturbation  of  the 
British  Consul.  Probably  the  man  was  an  Austrian 
spy.  How  he  got  out  of  the  country,  and  what  use  he 
made  of  the  stolen  passport  we  never  learnt. 

By  this  time  our  operating  theatre  was  working 
smoothly.  Sister  Rowntree  had  recovered  from  Relap- 
sing Fever,  and  got  permission  to  come  to  our  aid  in 
the  afternoons.  We  had  engaged  a  gaunt  Austrian 
woman  to  wash  and  boil  and  clean  up  generally  for  us. 

And  then  we  discovered  John. 

John  was  an  Austrian  prisoner,  a  fat  good-natured 
kindly  person  of  some  forty-five  summers,  who  had  been 
a  rural  postman  before  the  war.  Life  had  dealt  kindly 
with  John,  he  was  contented,  happily  married ;  he  had 
a  safe,  fixed  job  with  a  pension  at  the  end  of  it.  There 
was  not  a  cloud  on  his  horizon. 

And  then  suddenly  Fate  had  clutched  him,  dragged 
him  from  his  quiet  little  village  in  Bohemia,  hurried  him 
breathlessly  with  thousands  more  of  his  grey-coated 
comrades  across  the  Danube,  passed  him  through  a  hell 
of  shrapnel,  lost  him  in  the  mountains,  and  finally 
dumped  him  a  bewildered  prisoner  in  Uskub,  a  place 
he  had  never  heard  of  before. 

In  his  sloppy  grey  uniform  he  looked  even  more 
harmless  than  if  he  had  been  in  civilian  clothes. 


WAR  SURGERY  103 

Later,  when  he  came  to  know  us  better  and  had 
ceased  to  be  afraid,  he  showed  me  with  great  pride  a 
photo  of  himself  in  a  frock  coat  and  top  hat,  seated  on 
a  cork-wood  property  couch  beside  an  uninviting-look- 
ing female,  his  wife,  and  two  fat-legged  little  girls,  his 
daughters.  He  was  a  Czech,  spoke  German  very  badly, 
had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  the  war  was  about,  and 
wanted  to  go  home. 

His  immediate  job,  however,  was  to  scrub  and 
polish  the  theatre  floor ;  and,  clad  in  a  white  coat,  stand- 
ing at  a  safe  distance  from  the  operator,  to  hold  the  ends 
of  arms  and  legs  while  we  amputated. 

Although  he  knew  no  English  we  always  told  him 
what  to  do  in  that  language,  accompanied  by  panto- 
mime. The  pantomime  he  recognised  intelligently,  and 
after  a  while  began  to  associate  it  with  the  words,  much 
as  an  intelligent  terrier  might. 

When  not  otherwise  engaged,  he  helped  the  gaunt 
Austrian  woman  with  the  washing  of  towels  and  sheets, 
kept  the  stove  supplied  with  fuel,  and  pumped  up  the 
pressure  in  the  petrol  incandescent  light  over  the 
operating  table. 

We  developed  a  great  liking  for  John.  He  was 
always  willing,  always  or  nearly  always  smiling,  always 
anxious  to  please.  I  fancy  he  hated  the  work,  especi- 
ally having  to  hold  the  legs  while  we  amputated ;  but 
he  never  confessed  it  until  the  great  plague  came  that 
stopped  our  activities,  and  he  was  transferred  to  yet 
another  post. 

We  got  him  on  my  first  operating  week,  purely  on 
trial.  He  stayed  with  us  until  the  end,  taking  the  place 
of  our  dresser,  Stubbs,  a  medical  student,  who  became 
ill  about  a  fortnight  after  we  started. 

Stubbs'  illness  was  one  of  our  first  real  troubles.  One 
of  the  orderlies  had  just  begun  peeling  from  Scarletina, 
when  Stubbs  developed  a  pink  rash.  But  the  rash  was 
not  typical,  he  had  no  temperature,  and  his  throat  was 
not  sore.     We  watched  him  for  two  days  whilst  the  rash 


104  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

faded.  Then  papular  spots  began  to  appear  on  his 
wrists  and  forehead. 

Sherlock,  who  was  looking  after  him,  came  to 
me. 

"  I  wish  you'd  have  a  look  at  Stubbs,"  he  said. 

We  examined  him  together,  getting  more  and  more 
grave. 

"  Well.     What  do  you  think  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Same  as  you,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  you  think  it  is,"  he  said. 

"  Sure  of  it.  I  was  through  the  London  epidemic  of 
1902." 

"  But  how  could  he  have  caught  it  ?  I  have  no  case 
in  hospital,"  he  said. 

"  Well.     You  will  soon,"  I  answered  cheerfully. 

Then  we  went  and  told  the  Chief  that  we  had  a  case 
of  smallpox  amongst  our  men. 

We  had  already  had  Scarlet  and  Relapsing  Fever. 
This  was  our  third  zymotic  disease ;  so  it  seemed  to  us 
that  for  a  small  unit  we  were  suffering  pretty  severely 
already  from  our  insanitary  hospital.  Luckily,  we  did 
not  know  what  was  in  store  for  us. 

Obviously  the  first  move  was  to  isolate  the  patient, 
the  next  to  vaccinate  all  contacts — in  other  words,  the 
whole  unit.  There  was  a  single-roomed  porter's  lodge 
at  the  entrance  gate  to  our  quarters.  It  was  empty, 
kept  so,  indeed,  in  case  of  any  such  emergency.  By 
putting  in  a  bed  and  bedding,  a  table,  a  rug  and  a  stove, 
it  was  turned  into  an  isolation  ward,  and  the  patient 
installed  within  an  hour.  To  prevent  spread,  orders 
were  issued  that  no  one  except  Sherlock  was  to  visit  the 
patient.  Then  we  were  all  vaccinated  with  some  lymph 
supplied  from  Nish,  and  everyone  was  happy  again. 
The  vaccine  probably  was  quite  inert,  for  none  of  us 
took;  but  by  the  time  we  discovered  this  we  did  not 
care,  for  in  a  fortnight  we  had  begun  to  accept  small- 
pox as  an  everyday  occurrence.  In  Serbia  we  soon  dis- 
covered nobody  bothered  much  about  it.     The  Major, 


WAR  SURGERY  105 

our  Commandant,  was  gently  amused  at  all  the  fuss  we 
made  at  first. 

The  Little  Red  Woman,  too,  in  spite  of  her  train- 
ing was  quite  surprised  at  our  precautions.  In  her 
warm-hearted,  impulsive  way,  as  soon  as  she  heard  of 
the  case  she  made  straight  for  the  gate-house ;  and  there 
Sherlock  found  her  talking  to  the  patient,  standing  close 
to  the  bed  in  her  ordinary  clothes. 

"  But  you  mustn't  do  that,"  he  protested. 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?  The  boy  will  be  lonely.  I 
am  not  afraid  of  small-pox,"  she  said  quickly,  throwing 
up  her  red  head. 

"  But  you  may  carry  it  all  round  the  mess,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  if  you  are  afraid,"  she  answered  hotly,  "  I 
needn't  come  to  the  mess." 

"It's  not  a  question  of  being  afraid.  It's  a  question 
of  common  sense,"  he  answered,  getting  nettled. 

"  Well.  I  don't  care.  I'm  not  going  to  leave  the 
boy  without  attention,"  she  cried  impulsively. 

"  But  I'm  looking  after  him,"  said  Sherlock  in  an 
irritated  voice,  "  and  one  person  in  contact  is  enough. 
You're  only  adding  to  the  risk." 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  repeated  stubbornly.  "  I'm 
coming  to  see  him." 

Sherlock  repeated  all  this  to  Barclay,  Steve  and  my- 
self ;  and  we  were  sitting  round  the  stove,  smoking  and 
considering  what  we  should  do  when  she  came  in.  She 
glanced  at  us  all  quickly. 

"  You  look  like  conspirators.  And  you're  all  angry 
with  me.     But  I  don't  care,"  she  said. 

Then  I  had  an  inspiration. 

"It's  superfluous  having  two  doctors  looking  after 
one  case.  Suppose  we  put  you  in  charge,"  I  said 
quickly.  "  You  could  both  doctor  and  nurse  him. 
Sherlock  won't  mind.     Do  you  agree?" 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered  promptly. 

"  Righto,  then  that's  done  !  You  take  over  from  six 
o'clock  to-night.     We'll  have  a  couch  put  into  the  gate- 


106  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

house  for  you ;  and  you'll  consider  yourself  contagious. 
No  hospital  work.  No  coming  to  the  mess.  Food 
sent  in  for  both  of  you  to  the  gate-house.  You 
understand  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  she  said,  and  went  off  triumphantly. 

Steve  smiled  a  slow,  sweet  smile  at  me. 

"  Say,  Father.  I  get  you.  That's  some  wheeze. 
She  thinks  she's  won,"  he  drawled. 

*'  She's  a  perfect  dear.  She's  all  impulse.  I  give  her 
two  days  to  get  tired  of  it.  Then  Sherlock  can  take  on 
again,  and  she  won't  bother  till  the  next  time,"  I 
answered. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  thirty-six  hours  finished  her.  The 
patient  was  exceedingly  tiresome,  like  most  fever 
patients.  He  kept  her  awake  most  of  the  night,  and 
wanted  her  to  talk  to  him  all  day.  She  was  unaccus- 
tomed to  nursing,  and  it  came  as  a  surprise  to  her  the 
number  of  things  he  expected  her  to  do  for  him.  Then, 
too,  she  missed  the  hospital.  Finally  the  Major  came 
along  and  worried  her  conscience.  He  said  it  was 
ridiculous  to  use  up  the  energies  intended  for  a  hundred 
patients  on  one  case,  that  any  good  bolnitcher  could 
do  the  work  she  was  doing,  and  that  he  knew  a  man 
just  recovered  from  small-pox  who  would  be  quite  will- 
ing to  act  as  male  nurse  for  ten  dinars  a  week. 

That  finished  her.  She  was  back  on  duty  within  the 
two  days  we  had  given  her.  Sherlock  took  charge  ;  and 
no  one  ever  mentioned  the  matter  to  her  afterwards. 
But  I  think  she  knew,  for  she  never  suggested  going  to 
see  that  patient  again,  and  he  was  allowed  to  convalesce 
alone,  aided  by  the  diurnal  visits  of  Sherlock,  and  the 
ministrations  of  the  Serbian  bolnitcher,  who  could 
speak  no  English.  None  of  the  rest  of  the  unit  con- 
tracted the  disease ;  but  by  now  we  began  to  have  three 
or  four  cases  a  day  in  our  hospital.  Generally  they  were 
quite  ordinary  cases,  but  when  anything  special  or 
doubtful  occurred  one  or  the  other  of  us  was  called  in. 
I  remember  one  such  case  well. 


WAR  SURGERY  107 

Sherlock  found  him  on  his  afternoon  round,  and  in  the 
evening  brought  me  to  see  him. 

"  That's  his  bed,"  said  Sherlock,  and  the  bol- 
nitcher,  at  the  words  poked  the  wrapped-up 
bundle. 

'•  No.  I'm  wrong,"  he  said,  when  he  saw  the  un- 
covered face.  "  That's  a  Recurrent  Fever.  Try  the 
man  two  up." 

The  man  two  up  proved  to  be  a  diphtheria,  that  ought 
to  have  been  removed  to  the  Fever  Hospital  that  after- 
noon. 

"'  I'm  afraid  I've  lost  him,"  said  Sherlock.  "  Let's 
look  further  along." 

The  patients  were  lying  on  straw  mattresses  on  the 
floor,  so  close  packed  that  the  mattresses  touched. 
Each  of  them  was  wrapped  in  a  dark  military  blanket, 
mostly  drawn  over  his  head ;  and  we  picked  our  way 
between  the  narrow  rows  by  the  aid  of  the  feeble  oil 
lamp  carried  by  the  bolnitcher,  still  looking  for  our 
particular  case. 

Suddenly  a  man  between  two  others  stirred,  sat  up 
with  wild,  staring  eyes,  and  began  to  jabber  at  us,  wav- 
ing his  arms  like  the  conductor  of  an  orchestra. 

"  That's  him,"  said  Sherlock.  "  I  knew  he  was 
somewhere  about  here." 

At  a  word  from  the  bolnitcher  the  man  leapt  up 
erect  in  bed,  throwing  aside  his  blanket  and  exposing 
his  whole  body. 

"  Isn't  he  a  beautiful  specimen,"  said  Sherlock,  with 
the  impersonal  satisfaction  of  the  scientist.  "  He's  the 
finest  example  of  confluent  malignant  small-pox  I've 
ever  seen." 

"  He  certainly  is  typical,"  I  admitted.  "  What  a 
pity  it  is  you  can't  keep  him.  He'll  be  dead  in  a  week 
in  that  horrible  fever  hospital,  '  The  Polymesis.'  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  answered,  his  face  falling.  "  I 
went  there  the  other  day.  They've  got  Recurrent 
Fever,  Typhoid,  Small-pox,  Diphtheria  all  mixed  up  on 


108  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

contiguous  mattresses.  Can't  help  it,  overcrowded  just 
like  us,  only  worse." 

"  I  hear  they've  got  a  case  of  Typhus,"  he  added 
casually. 

Typhus. 

The  name  stirred  seared  memories  in  me  as  nothing 
else  in  the  way  of  disease  can,  carried  me  back  to  half- 
forgotten  days  of  creeping  horror,  of  the  lurking  fear 
that  comes  of  knowledge,  and  the  forced  courage  that 
has  to  overcome  that  fear. 

For  a  moment  it  brought  remembrance  of  women, 
young,  eager,  beautiful,  who,  knowing  what  was  at 
stake,  had  faced  the  horror  with  wide,  calm  eyes,  not 
consciously  from  any  high  altruistic  motives,  certainly 
not  from  any  hankering  after  the  martyr's  crown,  nor 
with  the  idea  of  figuring  in  the  limelight  before  a 
fascinated  world,  but  simply  because  they  were  nurses, 
hired  for  the  work  at  two  and  a  half  guineas  a  week,  and 
it  never  occurred  to  them  to  shirk  it. 

To  the  English  mind,  even  to  that  of  the  English 
doctor,  the  name  conveys  little.  The  layman  usually 
confuses  it  with  Typhoid  (Enteric),  a  disease  which  now 
has  lost  all  its  terror.  The  English  doctor  knows  it  only 
from  his  reading.  He  has,  almost  certainly,  never  seen 
a  case,  and  has  no  inherited  dread  of  it.  If  he  be 
learned  in  the  history  of  his  art  he  will  have  read  of  it  as 
Camp  Fever,  Gaol  Fever,  Irish  Fever,  Famine  Fever, 
Spotted  Fever  in  his  Murchison.  The  whole  subject, 
however,  will  be  one  of  historical  interest  only  to  him. 

But  in  Ireland  it  is  not  so.  There  the  horror  still 
lurks  in  neglected  corners,  surviving  from  the  awful 
times  of  the  Great  Famine,  breaking  out  unexpectedly 
every  few  years  in  one  locality  or  another.  The  Irish 
peasant,  with  his  long  tenacious  memory,  holds  it  in 
deadly  fear.  Doctors  and  nurses  know  that  in  handling 
it  they  take  their  lives  in  their  hands,  fifty  per  cent,  of 
them  get  it,  twenty  per  cent,  of  them  die. 

The  former  mystery  of  its  cause,  the  ignorance  of  how 


WAR  SURGERY  109 

it  was  conveyed,  the  apparent  impossibility  of  protect- 
ing oneself  against  it  added  to  its  horror.  There  is 
hardly  a  doctor  in  Ireland,  coming  of  a  medical  stock, 
who  has  not  had  some  of  his  kin  of  a  former  generation 
die  of  it.  It  has  been  a  shadow  to  him  from  the  cradle. 
Personally,  it  is  the  one  disease  I  hate  to  handle. 

When,  therefore,  Sherlock  announced  as  an  interest- 
ing fact  that  a  case  had  been  reported,  I  was  conscious 
of  a  distinct  shock.  Knowing  the  conditions  under 
which  we  were  working,  I  felt  that  if  it  once  started  in 
Serbia  we  were  done  for.  It  would  spread  like  wildhre. 
It  would  decimate  the  country.  Memories  of  former 
epidemics  would  pale  before  this  one,  should  it  once 
begin. 

*•  Who  told  you  about  this  case,"  I  said  abruptly. 

'*  The  Little  Red  Woman.  We're  thinking  of  going 
to  the  Polymesis  to  have  a  look.  Like  to  come,"  he 
added  casually. 

**  Not  I,"  I  answered  promptly.  *'  I've  seen  too 
much  of  it  in  my  time  to  want  to  see  any  more." 

*•  Of  course,  I  had  forgotten.  I  remember  your  book 
about  it,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it.  Sorry,"  he  said 
apologetically. 

I  nodded. 

**  And  if  you  take  my  advice — which  you  won't — 
you'll  leave  it  alone.  It's  not  your  work.  Anyhow, 
whatever  you  do,  don't  drag  the  Little  Red  Woman 
into  it,"  I  said. 

Of  course  they  went.  I  knew  they  would.  But 
they  came  back  disappointed.  It  was  not  a  genuine 
case,  only  a  typhoid  ;  and  I  felt  enormously  relieved. 

As  it  was,  we  had  quite  enough  trouble  on  our  hands 
at  the  time.  Most  of  our  unit  were  getting  periodic 
attacks  of  Recurrent  Fever,  and  we  had  no  real  way  of 
curing  them,  for  it  was  before  the  time  Salvarsan  began 
to  be  used  with  such  excellent  results  in  this  disease. 

To  make  things  worse,  just  then,  Steve  got  ill.  Some- 
thing went  wrong  with  his  eyes.       He  conijjlained  of 


^ 


no  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

intense  headache,  intolerance  of  light  and  sound,  and 
was  incapacitated  for  a  week. 

As  he  was  an  indefatigable  worker,  his  loss  was  keenly 
felt;  we  were  all  a  little  overworked,  and  all  of  us  got 
ragged  tempered.  As  Steve  said,  "  nearly  anything 
would  get  our  goat,"  and  knowing  it  we  went  about 
avoiding  one  another. 

When  he  and  two  of  the  men  recovered,  we  were  all 
happy  again. 


Every  morning  on  our  way  to  the  dressing  room  we 
used  to  pass  the  dead  of  the  night  before,  laid  out  in 
the  basement  in  a  stiff  row,  wrapped  each  in  a  blanket, 
lying  on  a  stretcher  with  a  candle  burning  at  his  head. 

They  were  all  men  from  Northern  Serbia,  and  there- 
fore strangers  with  none  to  mourn  them.  Bullock 
waggons  came  about  ten  o'clock,  and  into  these  the 
bodies,  in  rough  deal  coffins,  covered  with  a  painted 
wooden  cross,  were  loaded  in  sixes,  one  on  the  top  of  the 
other.  A  long-haired  "  pope,"  in  gorgeous  vestments, 
strode  in  front,  two  ragged  soldiers  with  rifles  marched 
behind,  and  that  was  the  funeral. 

There  were  no  mourners,  no  carriages.  Once  they 
had  been  men  who  had  fought  heroically  for  their 
country;  but  now  they  were  just  names  in  an  official 
list  of  casualties.  They  were  buried  in  long  trenches  in 
the  new,  ever-increasing  graveyard  on  the  far  side  of 
the  station  beyond  the  railway  lines,  each  with  his  little 
wooden  cross. 

Coming  fresh  to  the  awful  callousness  of  war,  we 
were  stirred  at  first ;  but  soon  we  grew  accustomed. 
The  value  of  human  life  sinks  enormously  in  war  time. 
We  knew  that  our  own  men,  our  own  officers,  were  being 
interred  just  as  hurriedly — often  more  hurriedly — on  the 
Western  front ;  and  felt  that  it  spoke  well  for  the  admin- 
istration of  the  harried  country,  in  which  we  were,  that 
any  formalities  were  carried  out  at  all. 


WAR  SURGERY  111 

It  was  a  few  days  before  Christmas  that  I  noticed  the 
first  case  of  mourning.  The  dead  were  lying  in  the 
usual  grim  row  on  stretchers  on  the  floor.  One  man, 
however,  had  his  cap  on.  There  was  a  sprig  of  green 
behind  his  right  ear.  A  jar  of  wine,  an  apple  and  some 
grains  of  wheat  lay  beside  him.  A  candle,  as  usual, 
burned  at  his  head.  The  body  was  wrapped  in  a  bril- 
liant patchwork  quilt ;  and  beside  it  a  woman,  crouch- 
ing on  her  knees,  her  face  hidden,  sobbed  quietly. 

We  passed  her  softly  on  our  way  upstairs.  At  lunch 
time  she  was  still  there  watching  over  her  dead.  When 
we  returned  in  the  afternoon  she  seemed  never  to  have 
moved.  Next  day  she  was  gone,  and  the  body  with 
her.  We  never  knew  whom  she  was,  or  for  whom  she 
mourned — father,  brother,  son  or  lover.  She  crossed 
our  path  for  a  moment,  and  then  slid  quietly  into  the 
outer  unknown  again. 

But  the  belief  in  the  resurrection  from  the  dead 
symbolised  by  the  sprig  of  green,  and  grains  of  wheat 
which,  though  buried  in  the  soil,  yet  rise  again  and 
flourish,  the  material  provision  for  the  soul  on  its  lone 
journey  into  the  void,  denoted  by  the  apple  and  the  jar 
of  wine,  long  lingered  in  our  memories,  for  we  felt  that 
we  were  looking  on  customs  probably  time-worn  before 
Memphis,  Thebes,  Nineveh  were  thought  of,  and  cer- 
tainly centuries  before  the  eclectic  faith  of  the  Nazarene 
had  grafted  them  on  the  stem  of  its  tradition.  It  was 
like  a  sudden  unexpected  vision  of  the  ages. 


We  had  by  now  been  away  from  England  over  two 
months,  but  not  a  single  letter  or  newspaper  had  come 
through  to  us,  although,  as  I  have  already  mentioned, 
the  Serbian  Post  Office  was  continually  sending  us 
letters  belonging  to  other  people  further  up  country. 
All  of  us  had  friends  whom  we  knew  were  certain  to 
write  to  us  at  least  once  a  week.  Most  of  us  had 
arranged  to  have  various  newspapers  sent  us.     It  had 


112  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

been  settled  that  the  British  Red  Cross  should  forward 
on  all  such  correspondence.  I^iit  nf)thing  came.  The 
silence  be^mn  to  get  on  our  nerves.  It  looked  as  if  we 
had  been  shot  out  suddenly  to  this  far-off  country,  and 
then  promptly  forgotten. 

Stretton  was  particularly  distressed.  He  was  an 
oldish  man,  already  past  niihtary  age,  had  been  curtly 
declined  by  both  the  War  Otlice  and  the  Admiralty  on 
the  outbreak  of  war,  and  really  should  never  have  l)een 
sent  abnjad.  But  nothing  else  would  satisfy  him,  and 
he  had  plagued  everyone  in  authority  till  finally,  by 
concealing  his  age,  he  had  persuaded  the  British  Red 
Cross  to  accept  him. 

He  had  left  his  practice  on  two  days'  notice,  wired 
for  a  locum  he  had  never  seen,  said  good-bye  to  his 
wife  and  children,  and  set  off  with  us  in  a  fever  of  excite- 
ment. But  week  after  week  of  silence  began  to  wear 
on  him. 

"  God  knows  what  mayn't  have  happened.  My  wife 
writes  twice  a  week.     I  know  she  does,''  he  said. 

One  day  he  came  in  foaming.  He  had  been  visiting 
the  Paget  Unit,  and  they  were  getting  letters  regularly. 
The  same  evening  we  heard  that  one  of  our  orderlies  had 
got  a  letter  through  the  Post  Oliice,  just  dropped  into 
a  letter  box  in  the  ordinary  way  in  London  twelve  days 
before. 

We  thought  of  the  bundles  that  must  be  accumulating 
at  the  Headquarters  in  Pall  Mall.  The  Chief  stated  that 
he  had  wired  immediately  after  arrival  asking  for  our 
mail  to  be  sent  on. 

'*  That  puts  the  tin  lid  on  it,"  said  Steve. 

I  have  wondered  sometimes  since  if  that  night,  by 
some  form  of  telepathy,  the  concentrated  venom  of  our 
irritation  reached  and  made  tingle  the  ears  of  the  good 
lady  who  had  charge  of  our  correspondence  in  Pall  Mall. 
Perhaps  so.  Perhaps  it  was  only  the  increasing  volume 
of  our  stuff  getting  in  the  way  that  made  her  bestir  her- 
self.    Perhaps  she  wandered  in  casually  after  a  matinee. 


WAR  SURGERY  118 

'•  Hello.  Here's  a  lot  of  letters  for  Serbia.  Ixt  me 
see.  Aren't  we  sending  out  a  Unit  there,  or  has  it 
gone?  Let's  look  when  they  were  received.  A  week. 
That's  all  right.  Three  weeks — Hem.  Five  weeks — 
Good  gracious.  Seven  weeks — How  couUl  I  have  been 
so  careless.  Eight  weeks—.  I  daren't  look  at  any 
more.     They  must  go  off  at  once." 

All  this  is  pure  imagination.  Perhaps  there  was  no 
jiuinstaking  lady  in  the  case.  Perhaps  only  an  ordinary 
stupid  male  ckrk,  liarassed  by  too  much  to  do,  was  to 
blame.  I  cannot  say.  At  any  rate,  one  golden  after- 
noon they  came. 

Mail  day. 

Only  those  who  havi-  wamitrid  m  the  uutparts  can 
imagine  the  joy  of  it.  Only  those  who  have  had  to 
content  their  souls  in  patience  can  appreciate  the  cruelty 
that  oMicial  indifference  ran  often  unconsciously 
iH-riietrate. 

It  was  a  few  days  before  Christmas  when  our  first 
consignment  arrived.  No  one  could  do  any  work  that 
afteriKJon.  St  ret  ton  had  a  monster  sheaf,  and  was 
satislifd.  I  think  I  had  fifteen  bundles  of  letters. 
Everyone  had  a  mail  except  Steve.  He  watched  us 
rending  and  re-reading,  chuckling  over  special  bits, 
turning  over  envelopes. 

**  Helieve  me.  Father,  it  makts  a  fellow  feel  kind  of 
mean  to  be  the  only  ori)han  in  this  out  lit.  Not  that  it 
is  any  fault  of  my  people,"  he  interjected  quickly. 
•*  Not  on  your  life.  Grandmama  thinks  hrr  little 
Willie's  safe  in  Philadelphia.  She'll  be  some  startled 
when  she  hears  of  this  stunt," 

Stretton  beamed  with  content  that  night. 

"  My  wife  says  things  are  all  right,  and  the  *  locum  ' 
1^  popular,"  he  confided.  "  Uve  written  her  to  send 
letters  direct,  though,"  he  added,  his  eyes  hardening. 

Naturally  we  all  did  the  same,  and  so  our  letters 
came,  in  future,  (juite  regularly  fourteen  days  as  a  rule 
after  they  were  posted.  But  we  had  not  been  in  time 
u 


114  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

to  stop  our  Christmas  letters  going  to  Headquarters, 
and  they  did  not  arrive  in  Serbia  until  March  in 
consequence. 

I  can  still  remember  going  through  that  pitiful  Christ- 
mas mail  bag — parcels  of  cigarettes,  pipes,  mittens, 
gloves,  scarfs,  Christmas  greetings,  chocolate,  hard 
lumps  of  stuff  that  was  once  cake — addressed  with  the 
names  of  men  who  had  been  sent  home  broken  in  health 
and  spirit,  or,  worse  still,  lay  quiet  in  their  water-logged 
Serbian  graves.     But  I  anticipate. 


CHAPTER  VI 
CARRYING  ON 

The  man  with  the  haunting  eyes — The  treatment  of  Austrian 
Prisoners — How  we  discovered  James  and  Anthony — An  Austrian 
Cliristmas  Eve — Tlie  Serbian  Dead  Marcli  — How  we  tried  to  buy 
embroideries — Concerning  Macedonian  costumes,  Tzigane  women, 
yashmaks  and  charchafs— Steve  and  tlie  oHves — The  cow-bell  and 
the  infatuation  of  Anthony— The  discovery  of  the  "  Han  " — 
Ragusan  argosies — The  real  secret  of  the  Macedonian  massacres — 
Tlie  arrival  of  the  Suffragettes — The  odd  behaviour  of  the  com- 
mercial traveller — The  pitiful  tale  of  how  we  cursed  !»uJ  finally 
forgave  a  Scotsman. 

BY  this  time  the  tirst  great  rush  of  wounded  was 
over.  The  Serbs  had  gained  the  phenomenal 
victory  over  the  hated  *'  Schwab,"  which  was 
the  outstanding  feature  of  the  Allied  campaign  up  to 
Christmas,  1014.  They  had  captured  seventy  thousand 
men,  hundreds  of  guns,  thousands  of  rifles,  millions  of 
small-arm  ammunition.  It  was  a  veritable  dcl)acle. 
There  was  joy  and  rejoicing  all  over  the  land,  and  the 
change  in  the  fortune  of  war  showed  itself  in  the  changed 
aspect  of  the  wounded.     Everyone  was  happy. 

We  were  now  also  beginning  to  get  over  some  of  the 
difficulties  of  the  language,  and  cases  were  no  longer 
being  overlooked  and  left  undressed  as  formerly.  The 
patients  remained  longer  with  us,  as  they  were  not  being 
evacuated  so  rapidly  to  Veles,  Ghevgeli,  Kalkandelen, 
Monastir  as  formerly,  the  pressure  from  the  front  not 
being  so  severe.  Cases  we  had  operated  on  were  by  this 
time  segregated  into  one  quarter,  and  distinguishing 
numbers  put  on  their  beds,  so  that  we  could  pick  out  our 
own  cases  and  dress  them  in  the  ward.  That  this  last 
arrangement,  so  ordinary  as  to  be  taken  for  granted  in 

115 


116  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

any  hospital,  should  have  been  looked  upon  by  us  as  a 
great  advance,  shows  how  primitive  and  haphazard  our 
methods  had  been  during  the  first  few  nightmare  weeks, 
when  even  to  dress  all  the  cases  requiring  urgent  treat- 
ment was  Impossible. 

Order  began  to  rise  out  of  chaos,  and  we  felt  that  at 
last  we  really  had  a  hospital,  and  not  a  lodging-house 
for  wounded,  to  look  after. 

Our  death-rate  dropped  to  an  average  of  10-12  per 
diem,  and,  after  we  had  worked  out  a  diet  scheme  with 
the  ofhcials,  we  ceased  to  have  the  uncomfortabk*  feel- 
ing that  patients  who  could  not  eat  the  field  ration  were 
being  starved. 

The  Serb  peasant  is  an  uncomplaining  person.  From 
his  infancy  he  has  been  accustomed  to  hard  work  and 
poor  food — that  is,  poor  from  the  western  standpoint. 
One  square  meal  a  day  of  bread  and  meat  soup,  with  a 
glass  of  vino  (wine)  at  noon  is  his  staple  diet.  Tea  at 
six  in  the  morning,  tea  or  boiled  rice  at  six  in  the  even- 
ing, with  his  loaf  or  half  a  loaf  of  black  bread,  and  he  is 
being  well  fed. 

We  found  that  milk  as  part  of  the  dietary  of  a 
wounded  man  was  almost  impossible  to  get.  Milk  is 
very  little  used  in  the  Balkans,  apparently.  We  got  it 
eventually,  after  much  tribulation.  Hard-boiled  eggs, 
slabs  of  toasted  bacon,  fragments  of  roasted  mutton, 
chicken  or  goat,  tough  bufifalo  beef  were  fairly  easily 
obtainable.  There  seemed  to  be  no  demand  for  vege- 
tables or  potatoes,  though  these  were  abundant  in  the 
local  markets.  Butter  was  unobtainable.  Jam  or  pre- 
served fruit  was  looked  upon  as  a  great  luxury,  though 
apples,  plums,  cherries,  etc.,  were  grown  in  the  country, 
and  were  quite  cheap  to  buy. 

As  usual,  the  wounded  had  an  inordinate  desire  for 
sweet  things,  and,  as  I  have  mentioned  already,  there 
was  a  regular  traffic  in  ration  bread  for  cakes  and  other 
sweetmeats. 

Sometimes  friends  used  to  bring  in  supplies  of  such 


CAKRYING  ON  117 

delicacies.  Sometimes  a  patriotic  Serb,  when  his 
*'  Slava  "  day  came  round,  would  make  a  tour  of  the 
hospital,  distributing  gifts  of  this  nature.  One  way  or 
another,  most  of  them  seemed  to  be  able  to  gratify  their 
infantile  craving  for  sweet  things. 

At  that  time  there  was  one  old  man  who,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  attached  himself  especially  to  me. 
Wlien  I  say  that  he  was  an  old  man,  1  mean  that  he 
looked  old,  for  we  found  it  very  ditlicult  to  guess  the 
real  ages  of  these  tired,  wounded,  half-starved  men. 
Nearly  always  we  were  twenty  or  thirty  years  out.  This 
particular  man  used  to  hang  about  every  day,  shyly  in 
the  background,  saying  nothing  to  anyone,  shuflling 
forward  when  he  saw  a  space,  wistfully  waiting  when 
more  pushful  people  crowded  in  front  of  him.  Always 
when  he  was  anywhere  near,  his  eyes  seemed  io  watch 
me.  Always  when  I  lt)oked  up  I  seemed  to  latch  them. 
Somehow  he  got  on  my  conscience.  I  used  to  make  a 
special  point  of  dressing  him  at  once  as  soon  as  I  saw 
him — just  to  get  rid  of  his  haunting  eyes.  He  was  one 
of  our  rare  cases  of  abdominal  wounds ;  and  all  the  time 
he  was  with  us  he  was  gradually  getting  worse. 

One  day  I  asked  him  if  there  was  anything  especial  I 
could  do  for  him,  he  seemed  so  lonely,  so  helpless.  It 
took  a  long  time  to  make  him  understand.  Then  he 
told  me  he  had  no  friends,  no  relations,  no  money,  and 
what  he  wanted  most  of  all  in  life  was  some  lump  sugar, 
but  he  could  not  afford  it. 

I  promised  to  bring  him  some  that  afternoon,  and  he 
thanked  me  in  a  queer,  shy,  vacant  way.  Then  some- 
one called  me  off  to  an  operation.  I  was  out  of  the 
hospital  all  the  rest  of  the  day  and  forgot  about  him 
entirely. 

All  that  evening  I  had  a  troubled  feeling  that  there 
was  something  very  important  I  had  overlooked  ;  but  it 
was  not  until  the  next  morning,  when  I  felt  his  eyes 
upon  me,  that  I  remembered. 

I  was  horribly  ashamed.     In  the  middle  of  my  work 


118  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

I  went  back  to  the  mess,  told  Charlie  I  wanted  some 
lump  su^ar,  got  it,  and  returned, 

I  think  he  was  much  worse  that  day.  He  took  the 
sugar  languidly.  Then,  after  I  had  dressed  him,  he 
sat  vacantly  with  it  in  his  hand,  not  attempting  to  taste 
it.  In  the  hurry  of  the  work  I  lost  sight  of  him.  Next 
day  I  missed  him ;  he  was  not  in  his  usual  place,  wait- 
ing. I  enquired  about  him.  No  one  seemed  to  know 
him  by  sight,  and  as  I  had  not  got  his  name,  could  not 
identify  him  from  my  description. 

The  next  day  he  was  still  absent,  and  the  next.  I  never 
saw  him  again.     I  think  he  must  have  died  that  night. 


The  Serbs  had  taken  so  many  Austrian  prisoners  dur- 
ing the  great  advance  that  they  did  not  know  what  to 
do  with  them.  Merely  feeding  them  was  a  huge  item 
in  itself.  Distributing,  housing  and  guarding  was  a 
problem  immensely  aggravated  by  the  fact  that  Lower 
Serbia  was  full  of  refugees,  whose  homes  had  been  de- 
stroyed by  the  vandal  "  Schwabs  "  during  their 
advance  in  October  and  November.  There  were  over 
five  thousand  of  these  prisoners  in  Uskub  itself,  a 
ragged,  depressed  body  of  shuffling  men  in  untidy  grey 
uniforms,  whom  we  used  to  see  marching  in  gangs  back- 
wards and  forwards  to  work  on  the  roads,  followed  by 
an  escort  with  fixed  bayonets.  Most  of  them  had  over- 
coats and  top-boots ;  some  were  minus  one  or  the  other, 
either  because  they  had  been  lost  or  stolen,  or  sold  by 
their  owners  for  a  few  dinars,  in  order  to  purchase  some 
small  luxuries. 

The  basement  of  our  No.  3  Hospital  was  used  as  one 
of  their  barracks ;  the  upper  part  as  a  hospital  for  such 
of  them  as  were  ill.  Sickness  was  very  rife  amongst 
them,  partly  owing  to  the  privations  they  had  gone 
through,  partly  to  the  insufficient  food  they  were 
getting,  partly  to  the  overcrowding  and  lack  of  any 
ordinary  sanitary  arrangements  worthy  of  the  name. 


CARRYING  ON  119 

Not  that  there  was  any  deliberate  eruelty  in  this. 
Not  at  all.  Aecording  to  Serbian  ideas,  they  were  not 
really  badly  housed  and  fed.  Indeed,  as  we  soon  dis- 
covered, they  were  about  as  well  provided  for  in  that 
respect  as  the  Serbian  soldiers  themselves,  and  certainly 
as  well  as  the  Serbian  refugees. 

But,  according  to  English  ideas,  the  conditions  were 
deplorable.  It  was  obvious  to  us  that  if  any  epidemic 
started  they  would  succumb  like  flies.  Worse  still,  we 
saw  that  in  addition  they  would  be  a  serious  menace 
to  the  health  of  the  Serbian  community  also,  if  any  such 
danger  as  we  feared  arose. 

Once  or  twice  we  pointed  this  out  to  our  old  Serbian 
Commandant,  Major  Suskalovitch,  and  he  thoroughly 
agreed.  But,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  and 
eloquent  hands,  he  would  say»; 

"  \Miat  would  you.  What  can  we  do?  Our  own 
people  are  in  like  case." 

He  had  been  in  Uskub  for  forty  years  under  the  Turks, 
and  had  imbibed  deeply  of  their  philosophy  of  *'  Fate." 
It  was  the  Will  of  Allah.  In  addition,  as  he  had  been 
educated  at  Vienna,  and  had  an  Austrian  wife,  he  knew 
it  was  thought  he  was  too  lenient  already  towards  the 
'*  Schwab."  Nevertheless  he  did  as  much  as  he  could 
to  lighten  the  lot  of  such  as  came  under  his  control ;  and 
it  was  he,  I  think,  who  first  conceived  the  idea  of  using 
them  as  bolnitehers  in  our  hospital. 

Gradually  then,  we  began  to  replace  our  useless 
Macedonian  bolnitehers  with  Austrians,  until  we  had 
over  a  hundred  acting  as  stretcher  bearers,  food 
distributors  and  cleaners.  To  keep  the  hospital  stores 
supplied  with  sawn  and  chopped  wood  required  quite  a 
number.  To  carry  water  and  help  in  the  kitchens  more 
still.  Masons  and  carpenters  amongst  the  prisoners 
were  used  to  erect  partitions,  and  do  repairs  in  the 
buildings  under  our  control.  We  even  discovered  a 
man  who  could  make  splints  and  artificial  limbs. 

There  was  never  any  lack  of  volunteers  for  hospital 


120  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

work,  as  it  was  considered  much  less  laborious  than  road 
making.  Naturally  we  were  very  pleased.  The  men 
worked  splendidly,  and  were  readily  amenable  to 
discipline. 

Soon  after  the  sudden  departure  of  Ike,  we  asked  the 
Commandant  if  he  could  find  someone  amongst  the 
Austrian  prisoners  who  could  speak  English.  That  is 
how  we  got  "  James  "  and  "  Anthony."  James  was 
our  great  find.  Before  the  war  he  had  been  foreign 
correspondent  in  a  bank  in  Prague.  He  could  speak 
several  Slav  languages  beside  German  and  English.  He 
had  learnt  business  habits  in  New  York.  He  was  a 
sergeant  in  the  Field  Artillery.  Obviously  he  was  just 
the  man  we  wanted,  and  we  made  him  Chief  Interpreter 
in  the  hospital  at  once.  In  a  week  he  produced  order 
out  of  chaos  amongst  the  Austrian  bolnitchers  in  the 
hospital. 

As  a  Czech,  he  was  naturally  very  lukewarm  about 
the  war;  but  he  was  sufficiently  Austrian  to  have,  and 
express,  the  utmost  contempt  for  the  dirt  and  slovenli- 
ness he  found  everywhere  in  Serbia.  He  never  men- 
tioned the  high  courage,  the  light-heartedness,  the 
intense  generosity  of  the  people.  Perhaps  as  a  prisoner 
of  war  it  was  too  much  to  expect  of  him. 

Anthony  was  our  other  find.  Years  before  he  had 
been  a  waiter  at  the  Hotel  Cecil.  When  war  broke  out 
he  was  the  keeper  of  a  small  inn  somewhere  in  his  native 
Bohemia.  He  had  been  captured  with  his  entire  com- 
pany when  asleep  in  bivouac  in  the  mountains  south  of 
Valievo,  and  with  some  thousands  of  his  countrymen 
sent  south  to  us  to  be  interned. 

We  made  him  mess  steward,  and  with  a  pyjama 
jacket  over  his  uniform  he  used  to  wait  on  us  with  all 
the  aplomb  of  a  maitre  d^hotel,  balancing  plates  and 
dishes  with  the  skill  which  constant  practice  only  can 
produce.  He  had  an  understudy,  a  morose,  silent 
fellow  whom  none  of  us  ever  heard  speak.  Every 
morning  the  pair  used  to  sally  forth  with  a  basket  to 


CARRYING  ON  121 

buy  the  day's  provisions  for  the  mess,  for  the  "  White 
Rabbit  "  had  proved  a  hopeless  failure  as  purveyor, 
because  everyone  cheated  him,  foisting  the  very  worst 
joints,  the  toughest  chickens,  the  stalest  vegetables  on 
his  unsuspecting  innocence,  aggravating  their  conduct 
in  addition  by  charging  him  the  highest  possible  price 
for  the  awful  things  he  brought  back. 

With  Anthony  as  caterer,  and  Charlie,  our  fat  good- 
natured  Maltese  cook,  in  the  kitchen,  we  began  to  fare 
much  better.  Our  work  lessening  also  gave  us  more 
time  to  think,  more  leisure  to  enjoy.  Our  letters  com- 
ing through  regularly  made  us  feel  less  cut  off  from  the 
world.  The  fact  that  no  fresh  cases  of  small-pox  broke 
out  in  the  unit  made  us  more  at  ease. 

Wood  was  still  plentiful,  and  we  could  have  roaring 
fires  to  keep  out  the  cold.  The  "  White  Rabbit,"  by 
some  lucky  aberration,  managed  to  obtain  some  decent 
oil  lamps  instead  of  the  miserable  tin  dips  we  had  been 
using;  and  it  was  extraordinary  how  much  more  com- 
fortable our  quarters  looked  when  we  came  in  cold  and 
tired  to  warm  rooms  lit  by  a  cheerful  light. 

When  the  day's  work  was  done,  and  dinner  over,  we 
used  to  gravitate  to  the  bright-lit  Salon,  and,  loung- 
ing with  pipes  aglow,  fall  into  desultory  talk  over  the 
happenings  of  the  day.  Sometimes  Steve  would  play 
on  the  mouth  organ.  Sometimes  we  would  listen  to  our 
orderlies  singing  part-songs.  Often  the  Consul,  or 
someone  from  the  Paget  Unit  would  drop  in  with  the 
gossip  of  the  day. 

We  were  all  happy,  working  hard  together;  all 
pleasantly  tired,  all  glad  that  our  lot  had  fallen  in  a 
place  where  we  could  get  such  an  immense  variety  of 
experience.  Afterwards  we  used  to  look  back  on  these 
days  as  our  golden  period. 

Before  we  quite  realised  it,  Christmas  was  almost 
upon  us. 

The  Little  Red  Woman  was  greatly  exercised  over 
this.     With  her  warm  over- flowing  heart  she  had  now 


122  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

taken  the  cause  of  the  Austrian  prisoners  also  on  her 
shoulders.  Aeeording  to  her  it  was  Christmas  Eve, 
rather  than  Christmas  itself,  which  was  the  important 
day  for  them.  To  make  them  feel  less  lonely,  there- 
fore, she  induced  our  Commandant  to  provide  them  with 
a  special  dinner  for  the  occasion  in  the  basement  of  our 
No.  y  Hospital,  and  to  this  dinner,  in  addition  to  her- 
self, Sherlock  was  invited,  because  he  had  been  looking 
specially  after  their  health. 

As  it  happened  Steve  and  I  were  alone  in  the  mess 
that  night ;  so  after  dinner  it  occurred  to  us  we  might 
slip  over  and  look  on  at  the  festivities  without  being 
seen. 

It  was  a  cold,  raw  night  when  we  turned  out.  The 
No.  3  Hospital  was  in  darkness,  and  we  had  to  grope 
our  way  across  the  mattresses,  scattered  over  the  empty 
ground  floor,  to  find  the  corner  where  a  staircase  led 
down  to  the  basement,  guided  by  the  sound  of  violins 
coming  from  below. 

A  rush  of  hot  exhausted  air  met  us  when  we  quietly 
drew  aside  the  lilankct  which  acted  as  a  curtain  at  the 
head  of  the  staircase.  The  bright  light  from  many 
lamps  blinded  us  for  a  moment.  Then  we  saw  a  long 
table,  decorated  with  green,  down  the  middle  of  the 
room,  lined  by  men  in  grey  uniforms  sitting  on  benches. 
All  the  lights  were  on  the  table ;  but  on  the  outer  edge 
of  illumination  we  could  see  beds,  from  w^hich  sitting-up 
patients  with  bright  feverish  eyes  looked  on. 

Great  steins  of  beer  stood  before  each  sitting  guest ; 
and  for  the  moment  all  the  bitterness  of  captivity  was 
absent  from  their  animated  faces. 

At  the  upper  end  of  the  room  there  was  a  little  plat- 
form, with  an  orchestra  of  three  violins  and  a  'cello 
playing  softly  some  queer  melancholy  Hungarian  music 
that  brought  an  odd  lump  to  the  throat,  a  moisture  to 
the  eye,  that  made  one  feel  sad  yet  happy,  proud,  and  a 
little  lonely,  an  odd  medley  of  emotions,  owing  to  which 
I  felt  glad  to  be  in  the  darkness  on  the  edge  of  the  light. 


CAliRYING  ON  123 

A  very  smart,  good-looking  young  sergeant  appeared 
to  be  master  of  tlie  ceremonies.  He  went  about  gaily, 
seeing  that  everyone  was  being  looked  after.  He  was 
particularly  gallant  to  the  Little  Red  \Vi)nuin.  who 
sat  smilmg  and  happy,  queen  of  the  evening. 

A  number  of  Serbian  sestras  in  their  white  Retl 
Cross  caps  were  scattered  amongst  the  men.  A  few 
Serbian  soldiers  were  also  there  as  guests,  a  little  de- 
tached, a  little  supercilious,  faintly  saturnine.  Looking 
at  the  open  blue  eyes  and  blond  features  of  the 
Austrians,  swayed  by  the  music  of  the  orchestra,  one 
could  see  they  came  of  a  softer,  more  sentimental,  less 
primitive  race,  and  could  understand  how  man  to  man 
in  fierce  animal  conflict  they  were  bouiul  to  get  the 
worst  of  it.  Watching  them,  it  was  ditlicult  to  believe 
that  these  emotional  music  lovers  could  have  been  guilty 
of  the  awful  atrocities  which  had  marred  the  fair  fame 
of  the  Austrian  army  during  tiie  horrible  months  when 
they  held  the  northern  third  of  Serbia  in  their  hands. 

Quietly  standing  in  our  dark  corner  we  looked  on 
and  listened  to  the  music.  We  saw  the  Little  Red 
Woman  being  toasted  in  a  eulogistic  speech,  watched 
her  Hush  with  pleased  embarrassment,  saw  Sherlock, 
who  was  sitting  beside  her,  lean  over  and  speak  in  her 
ear,  saw  her  shake  her  heail,  then  waver.  Finally  she 
got  up  on  her  feet,  and  made  a  little  halting  speech  in 
(ierman,  thanking  them  for  what  they  had  said  about 
her,  and  winding  up  by  hoping  that  next  year  they 
would  all  enjoy  a  Merry  Christmas  in  their  own  homes, 
when  the  cruelties  of  war  would  be  over. 

All  the  time  she  was  speaking  the  leader  of  the 
orchestra,  a  mere  boy  in  appearance,  but  already,  they 
told  me,  a  leading  star  in  the  Conservatoire  at  Prague, 
kept  his  eyes  fastened  on  her  in  an  ecstasy  of  emotional 
forgetfulness.  But  when  she  stopped,  and  gathered  up 
her  things  as  if  to  leave,  he  seemed  to  wake  up,  ran  his 
fingers  through  his  long  hair,  find  turning  spoke  quickly 
to  his  companions. 


124  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Then  an  unexpected  thing  happened.  Before  she  had 
time  to  move,  the  orchestra  broke  into  the  solemn 
strains  of  the  Russian  National  Anthem.  An  electric 
thrill  ran  through  the  room.  There  were  many 
Austrian  Slavs  there,  and  at  once  everyone  was  on  his 
feet,  voices  took  up  the  refrain,  and  the  grand  old  tune 
came  thundering  up  to  us  standing  in  the  darkness  of 
the  stairway. 

"  Thank  you.  Thank  you  very,  very  much,"  we 
heard  her  say,  with  a  gulp  in  her  voice. 

"  We'd  better  beat  it,  before  she  comes,"  said  Steve, 
hurriedly.  "  Say,  Father,"  he  added  when  we  were 
once  more  safely  outside  in  the  dark  night  again.  "  It 
seems  a  shame  we've  got  to  fight  the  Austrian." 

"  I  know,  old  thing,"  I  answered.  "It's  just  their 
bad  luck  to  be  on  the  losing  side.  But  though  they're 
a  delightful  people  they're  without  any  moral  backbone, 
and  the  Serb  is  the  better  man  to  go  tiger  shooting 
with." 


On  Christmas  day  we  finished  work  at  noon  to  give 
our  Austrian  orderlies  as  much  of  the  day  as  possible  to 
themselves.  The  fact  that  we  and  they  alone  celebrated 
Christmas  on  that  day  made  us  feel  peculiarly  friendly 
towards  them;  for  the  Serbs,  the  Russians  and  the 
Greeks,  still  adhere  to  the  old  Julian  Calendar,  and 
their  Christmas  was  yet  thirteen  days  ahead. 

At  night  the  whole  British  colony  had  been  invited  to 
dine  together  at  the  quarters  of  the  Paget  Unit;  and 
everyone  was  looking  forward  to  an  evening  which 
would  make  us  feel  less  exiled.  But  on  the  Christmas 
morning  the  first  of  the  long  toll  Serbia  was  to  take  from 
us  was  exacted  in  the  death  of  one  of  the  Paget  nurses, 
and  all  the  evening  we  felt  the  shadow  over  us. 

The  funeral  was  fixed  for  2  p.m.  on  the  following 
Saturday;  and  the  Little  Red  Woman  and  I  picked 
our  way  through  the  mud  by  a  series  of  back  streets  to 


CARRYING  ON  125 

the  "  Gymnasium,"  where  the  "  Serbian  Relief  Fund 
Unit  "  had  its  hospital.  Picturesque  groups  of  Serbian 
women  and  children,  in  their  most  gaudy  holiday  attire, 
hung  round  the  entrance  gate,  fascinated.  A  military 
band  played  in  the  quadrangle  in  front  of  the  hospital. 
A  platoon  of  the  Students'  Corps  from  Belgrade  stood 
in  rank  on  one  side  of  the  entrance.  A  group  of  high 
Serbian  officials,  in  gold  epaulettes,  gossiped  quietly  on 
the  steps.  The  open  hearse  stood  waiting  below. 
Finally  out  came  the  coffin  wrapped  in  a  Union  Jack. 
It  was  put  in  the  hearse,  and  the  procession  formed 
quietly.  In  front  came  the  band,  playing  the  Serbian 
Marche  Funebre.  After  it  came  the  firing  party.  An 
acolyte,  swinging  a  silver  incense  burner,  followed,  and 
then  four  gorgeously-arrayed  priests  of  the  Greek 
Church,  headed  by  the  Bishop  of  Uskub. 

At  the  Cathedral  we  had  an  elaborately  intoned  ser- 
vice in  Greek,  with  much  chanting.  Afterwards,  on  the 
portico  of  the  Cathedral,  standing  over  the  coffin,  the 
Serbian  Commandant  of  the  hospital  to  which  she  had 
been  attached,  made  her  "  funeral  oration  "  to  the 
assembled  throng,  saying  how  this  woman  from  far-off 
England  had  come  to  Serbia  and  laid  down  her  life  for 
the  sake  of  the  Serbian  people.  The  Serbs  are  natural 
orators,  and  the  Little  Red  Woman  told  me  it  was  a 
beautiful  speech.     I  noticed  many  wet  eyes  around. 

When  he  had  finished  the  band  struck  up  again,  and 
the  grim  procession  began  to  wind  its  way  through  the 
streets,  over  the  railway,  through  a  sea  of  mud  to  the 
Christian  graveyard  beyond  the  station.  There  the 
British  Consul,  in  full-dress  uniform,  read  the  simple, 
beautiful  service  of  the  English  Church  over  the  open 
grave,  with  the  Greek  priests,  the  Serbian  officers,  and 
the  assembled  mourners  looking  on. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  quietly  someone  started  a 
hymn.  It  was  "  Lead,  kindly  light,"  and  all  the 
British,  standing  amongst  the  silent  Serbs,  joined  in. 

All  the  while,  I  felt  most  curiously  detached.       I 


126  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

ought  to  have  been  moved ;  but  I  was  not,  for  I  had  not 
known  the  nurse,  and  could  associate  no  loss  with  the 
ceremony.  Nevertheless,  I  was  oddly  fascinated,  par- 
ticularly by  the  funeral  march.  It  was  the  first  time  I 
had  heard  it.  Afterwards  in  the  months  to  come  it 
became  only  too,  too  familiar.  I  used  to  wonder  how  I 
could  ever  have  liked  it ;  for  it  came  to  be  horrible,  a 
nightmare,  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  pushed  back  in  one's 
mind  by  any  and  every  means. 

As  it  was,  I  remember  returning  quietly  that  after- 
noon, when  it  was  all  over,  and  doing  two  operations. 
Later  on,  after  such  a  scene,  I  daren't  have  trusted 
myself  to  amputate  a  finger. 


Behind  the  hospital,  scarcely  three  minutes'  walk 
away,  was  a  bare  open  space  of  ground  which  once  had 
been  an  ancient  Turkish  cemetery.  So  old  was  it,  how- 
ever, that  it  had  been  totally  neglected  for  years,  its 
gravestones  had  fallen,  its  legends  become  undecipher- 
able. When  the  Serbs  took  over  Uskub  they  found  this 
area  derelict. 

In  Uskub  there  was  a  weekly  fair,  which  had  been 
going  on  for  centuries.  Always  it  had  been  held  in  a 
little  square  opposite  the  "Fortress  "  in  the  old  city; 
but  as  the  market  grew,  vendors  overflowed  yearly  more 
and  more  down  into  the  narrow  winding  side  streets  and 
lanes  leading  from  the  square  into  the  bazaar,  to  the 
great  inconvenience  of  customers,  and  the  general  dis- 
location of  all  traffic  in  the  neighbourhood. 

Everyone  saw  the  inconveniences  of  it,  but  nobody 
did  anything.  To  the  Turk  the  fact  that  the  market 
always  had  been  there  was  evidence  that  it  always  ought 
to  be  there.  The  Serbs,  however,  when  they  started 
energetically  to  improve  the  town,  thought  otherwise. 
One  of  the  first  things  they  did  was  to  take  the  roof 
off  the  bazaar  just  below  the  market,  and  let  in  the  light 
of  day,  so  that  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  wander,  as 


No.  i.  No.  2.       No.  3. 


No.  1. 


I'l.itc   \  I.     Our    llospit.-ils.   Inmi   tlu-   Market    I'lacc. 


Tlu-    saturnine  Antlioiiy.  Jai 

assistant.         ("Iiarlie,  tlie 

fat    Maltese  cook. 

Plate    \   I.       Int(r|.reter>    and     Kiteli.n    .Stall'. 


CARRYING  ON  127 

in  Salonika,  into  a  dim-lit  cavern  of  delight,  finding  un- 
expected treasure.  Next  they  set  about  finding  a  new 
and  improved  site  for  the  weekly  fair ;  and  the  disused 
burying  ground  to  which  I  have  alluded  was  chosen  as 
the  most  suitable.  By  the  time  we  arrived  the  new 
market  was  in  full  swing,  and,  although  the  old  still 
strove  valiantly  to  maintain  itself,  the  obvious  advan- 
tages of  the  new  had  already  settled  its  fate.  All  the 
vendors  flocked  to  the  site  behind  the  hospital,  and 
every  Tuesday  saw  it  crowded  to  overflowing.  Long 
before  daybreak  the  peasants  from  the  surrounding 
mountains  would  start  in  with  their  produce,  carried 
on  pack-saddles  or  ox-waggons,  to  reach  the  town  for 
the  opening  of  the  market  at  nine  o'clock,  trudging 
along  on  foot  with  their  wives  and  daughters,  intent  on 
driving  bargains  and  getting  value  even  to  an  infinit- 
esimal fraction  of  a  farthing. 

We  had  all  heard  of  this  market.  Soon  after  our 
arrival,  stories  began  to  circulate  of  wonderful  em- 
broideries that  the  nurses  of  the  Paget  Unit  had  been 
able  to  buy,  of  gorgeous  Albanian  costumes,  of  harem 
skirts,  of  silks,  of  curiously  inlaid  weapons,  of  silver  and 
of  filigree.  This  unit  was  still  getting  its  hospital 
ready  at  that  time,  and  had  leisure.  But  we  had  never 
had  any  time  to  spare  since  our  arrival.  Always  we 
were  too  busy.  Always  there  was  too  much  to  do. 
After  Christmas,  however,  work  began  to  slacken. 
Sometimes  we  were  actually  free  in  the  afternoon. 
Then  one  morning  James  announced  that  we  could 
easily  be  finished  by  noon.  It  was  a  Tuesday.  From 
the  top  window  of  the  hospital  we  could  see  the  busy 
fair  ground. 

The  Consul,  who  was  a  great  authority  on  em- 
broideries, had  told  me  recently  that  the  market  was 
particularly  well  supplied  with  these,  and  shown  me 
some  table  centres,  and  a  number  of  useless  little  mats 
such  as  women  love,  which  he  had  bought  as  wedding 
presents  for  a  girl  friend  in  England.     I  mentioned  this 


128  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

to  the  Little  Red  Woman,  and  saw  her  eyes  glow 
wistfully. 

*'  Suppose  we  take  half  an  hour  off,"  I  suggested. 

She  looked  at  me  eagerly. 

"  Do  you  indeed  think  that  we  might  ?"  she  said, 
just  like  a  schoolboy  offered  an  apple  which  he  is  afraid 
he  ought  to  refuse. 

*'  Sure,"  I  said.  "  The  others  can  carry  on  easily; 
and  we'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour." 

So  we  went. 

Three  women  with  amphorae  on  their  heads,  gossip- 
ing at  a  well,  stared  at  us  as  we  passed.  A  gendarme, 
wandering  aimlessly  round,  came  smartly  to  attention. 
We  picked  our  way  gingerly  over  the  muddy  ground, 
carefully  not  looking  where  a  platoon  of  Austrian 
prisoners  were  washing  their  shirts,  and  hanging  them 
out  to  dry,  while  they  stood  bare-chested  in  the  sun- 
light. It  was  a  beautiful,  warm,  spring-like  morning. 
Winding  our  way  through  a  barrier  of  waggons, 
tethered  ponies  and  donkeys,  past  ruminating  oxen,  of 
whom  the  Little  Red  Woman  was  very  frightened,  we 
came  presently  on  a  display  of  pottery — clay  lamps  for 
oil  like  those  of  ancient  Egypt,  amphorae,  flat  basins 
nested  from  the  size  of  a  soap  dish  to  that  of  a  lordly 
cream  pan,  bowls,  pie  dishes.  I  half  stopped  to  look, 
and  the  wite  of  the  potter  tried  to  sell  to  us.  We  pushed 
on,  with  a  polite  shake  of  the  head,  between  rows  of 
sacks  filled  with  wheat,  barley,  oats,  maize,  passing 
potato  merchants,  sellers  of  "  paprika,"  cabbages, 
onions,  passing  cheesemongers,  dealers  in  old  iron,  cast- 
off  clothing,  ploughshares,  horse-shoes,  leather,  meeting 
peasant  women  selling  eggs  in  baskets,  until  at  length 
we  came  to  the  cloth  market  section.  Here  there  was  a 
broad  pathway,  on  either  side  of  which  vendors  had 
their  regular  pitches  where  they  squatted,  cross-legged, 
with  their  wares  spread  before  them.  But  on  the  out- 
skirts round  and  about,  many  peasant  women  wandered 
with  bundles  of  embroidered  cloth-lengths  balanced  on 


CARRYING  ON  129 

their  heads.  These  bundles  usually  contained  one  or 
more  of  the  white  skirts,  worked  in  gaudy  colours, 
which  are  worn  on  Sundays  and  Saints'  days  by  the 
Christian  peasants  of  Macedonia,  or  the  sleeveless  coat 
which  goes  with  the  skirt. 

The  Consul  had  a  representative  collection  of  these. 
They  were  very  striking,  and  we  were  keen  on  getting 
some  good  specimens,  for  the  costume  worn  by  the 
Macedonian  peasant  women  is  most  attractive.  In  the 
long  winter  evenings  they  spin  the  wool  from  their  own 
sheep  and  weave  it  into  cloth.  From  this  thick  white 
cloth  the  sleeveless  decorated  coat  and  embroidered 
skirt  are  made.  They  cover  their  heads  with  a  gay 
handkerchief.  The  skirt  stops  about  eighteen  inches 
from  the  ground  to  display  bright-hued  socks, 
"  charapa,"  knitted  in  lozcnge-sliaped  designs.  The 
feet  are  encased  in  "  opanke,"  sandals  of  leather  or 
dressed  sheepskin,  fastened  with  thongs  over  instep  and 
ankles.  In  cold  weather  they  wear,  in  addition,  a  long 
sheepskin  coat  reaching  to  below  the  knees.  The  wool 
is  worn  outside  in  dry  weather.  When  it  rains  they 
simply  turn  it  inside  out. 

Slowly  we  wandered  along,  looking  at  the  various 
exhibits,  thoroughly  enjoying  ourselves,  conscious  of  a 
stolen  holiday.  Many  of  the  embroidery  and  lace  mer- 
chants were  Turkish  women,  wearing  the  old-fashioned 
disfiguring  white  "  yashmak  "  across  mouth  and  fore- 
head, covering  the  hair  completely. 

This  covering  of  the  hair  is  typically  Mohammedan. 
The  Christian  peasant  woman  often  wears  the  handker- 
chief that  covers  her  head  so  as  to  hide  her  mouth ;  but 
her  hair  is  invariably  finished  in  a  plait  which  escapes, 
tied  with  gay  ribbons,  down  her  back  between  the 
shoulder  blades.  It  is  one  of  the  quickest  ways  of 
telling  a  Christian. 

Wandering  about  amongst  the  purchasers  were  a  few 
Turkish  ladies  wearing  the  "  charshaf,"  the  thin  veil, 
usually  black,  affected  by  the  modern  Mohammedan 
I 


180  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

lady.  This  covering,  associated  witli  the  shapeless 
outer  garment  worn  in  the  street,  makes  most  women 
practically  unrecognisable,  and  is  said  to  have  been  used 
frequently  by  the  Young  Turks  in  Constantinople  as  an 
absolutely  safe  disguise,  since  no  Mohammedan  would 
ever  be  guilty  of  accosting  a  woman  in  public. 

Conspicuous  everywhere  in  the  market  were  the 
Tziganes,  or  Gypsies.  These  people  are  found  all  over 
the  Balkans.  There  are  several  villages  of  them  around 
IJskub.  The  men  work  mostly  as  jjorters ;  the  women, 
when  they  do  anything,  in  various  menial  capacities. 
They  are  a  handsome  race,  particularly  the  women, 
with  high  aquiline  features,  bold  dark  eyes,  and  erect 
graceful  figures.  The  Tzigane  woman  affects  the  harem 
skirt.  A  thin  white  bodice  covers  her  full  bosom.  The 
skirt  is  a  voluminous  affair  of  scarlet,  IjIuc,  green, 
purple,  or  some  other  striking  colour.  The  legs  are 
bare;  and  they  either  walk  barefooted,  or  wear  Turkish 
slippers  over  their  graceful  feet. 

By  swinging  my  camera  sideways,  I  managed  to 
photograph  one  such  woman,  without  her  knowledge, 
holding  her  baby  gipsy  fashion  on  her  hip. 

LTp  and  down  we  went,  in  and  out,  amongst  the 
white-capped  Albanians,  turbaned  Turks,  hard-featured 
Macedonians  in  embroidered  tunics,  piratical-looking 
Tziganes,  fezzed  Jews,  squat  Bulgarians  in  brown  home- 
spun, tall  Roumanians  with  high-domed  astrakan  hats, 
Serbs  in  grew  forage  caps,  Austrian  prisoners  in  light 
blue  untidy  uniforms.  We  were  m  a  holiday  mood,  and 
thoroughly  enjoying  ourselves.  The  Little  Red  Woman 
eventually  bought  a  table  centre  and  a  pair  of  wooden 
sandals,  bargaining  for  each  article  at  intervals,  for 
half  an  hour,  after  the  immemorial  custom  of  the 
East. 

A  Serbian  field  ofTicer,  with  gold  epaulettes  and 
clanking  sabre,  sauntered  past  us,  carrying  two  live 
chickens,  which  he  had  just  bought,  slung,  tied  by  their 
legs,  over  his  elbow.     I  thought  what  a  sensation  he 


CARR\1NG  ON  181 

would  have  created  in  Whitehall ;  but  here  no  one 
seemed  to  hnd  it  tlie  least  incongruous. 

Serbian  ladies  with  satchels  picked  their  way  daintily 
through  the  tlirong,  frugally  purchasing  their  weekly 
store  of  provisions.  A  long-haired  orthodox  priest,  in 
his  brimless  hat  and  rusty  cassock,  the  *'  pope  "  of  some 
little  village  in  the  hills,  rode  past  us  on  his  rough 
mountain  pony,  with  full  saddle-bags.  Itinerant 
merchants  of  sweetmeats,  sherbet,  and  '"  boza "  (a 
drink  made  from  millet,  much-loved  by  the  Serbians) 
perambulated  to  and  fro,  calling  their  wares.  We  came 
across  the  Consul  good-naturedly  helping  some  nurses 
to  purchase.  They  told  us  volubly  of  their  bargainings, 
the  light  of  battle  in  their  eyes. 

Then  we  went  back  to  the  hospital  to  dress  some  more 
compound  femurs.     And  so  to  lunch. 

Next  day  we  were  finished  in  the  early  afternoon,  and 
Steve  and  I  started  off  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  through 
the  town.  But  we  did  not  get  far.  Steve  had  an 
inordinate  craving  for  what  he  had  learnt  in  America  to 
call  •'■  candies."  We  were  passing  the  (Jreek  patisserie, 
when  he  noticed  a  bottle  of  sugared  plums  in  the 
window,  and  like  a  flash  he  was  inside.  A  little  later, 
crossing  the  bridge,  we  discovered  a  shop  where  they 
sold  olives,  tinned  things  and  delicatessen.  Now  he 
was  supremely  happy,  for  olives  were  another  of  his 
crazes.  The  proprietor  spoke  bad  French,  Steve 
equally  bad  Serbian.  Between  them,  however,  they 
managed  to  come  to  an  understanding.  We  departed 
laden  with  spoil ;  and  there  was  no  more  exploring  that 
afternoon.  To  Steve  the  discovery  of  the  olives  was  a 
supreme  event.  He  ate  half  a  bottle  on  the  way  home. 
He  had  a  passionate  love  U>r  them  ;  and,  when  he  found 
that  none  of  the  rest  of  us  really  cared  for  them,  was 
genuinely  disappointed,  only  lighting  up  again  at  dinner 
when  the  Little  Bed  Woman  came  to  his  rescue,  and 
confessed  she  too  had  a  like  craving. 


182  MY  BALKAN  LO(; 

The  next  aflernuoii  Shcrloek  and  I  started  to  explore 
over  the  bridge  in  the  old  town,  making  for  the 
"  Charshiya  "  (Bazaar),  past  the  monumental  fountain, 
inscribed  with  verses  from  the  Koran  commemorating 
some  pious  Turkish  lady's  gift,  which  was  one  of  our 
landmarks. 

A  wrong  turn  brought  us  to  the  quarter  of  the 
butchers,  where  scraggy  carcases  hung  in  serried  rows 
on  greasy  blood-stained  hooks.  Hurriedly  we  plunged 
past  into  a  maze  of  winding,  uneven  cobbled  streets 
lilled  with  a  motley  pedestrian  j)opulation,  pinned  to 
one  side  occasionally  by  a  ramshackle  fiacre,  a  man 
on  horseback,  a  slowly-moving  ox-wagon.  To  keep  our 
bearings  we  used  to  note  certain  i)laccs.  Here  was  the 
shop  of  the  Albanian,  displaying  pyramids  of  white 
skull-caps.  There  was  a  ruined  mosque.  Here  was  a 
wall  with  a  latticed  dormer  window  above.  There  the 
tomb  of  a  Holy  man.  Here  a  steep  street  led  up  to  the 
little  church,  with  its  squat  wooden  belfry  surmounted 
by  a  cross  projecting  against  the  sky-line.  All  of  these 
served  us  as  landmarks,  from  which  we  knew  our 
way. 

At  one  spot,  beside  a  desolate  Turkish  cemetery,  an 
old  blind  woman  sat  constantly,  pushing  out  her  skinny 
arms  and  calling  as  we  passed: — "Alms,  for  the  love 
of  Allah.  Alms,  for  the  love  of  Allah,"  in  a  hoarse, 
croaking  voice,  which  seemed  to  fall  upon  an 
unheeding  world,  since  no  one  ever  appeared  to  give 
her  anything. 

In  the  street  of  the  dealers  in  leather  we  came  to  a 
halt.  Everywhere,  in  the  open  shop  fronts,  were  rows 
upon  rows  of  sandals,  Turkish  slippers,  gorgeous  leather 
belts  fitted  to  hold  cartridges,  rows  upon  rows  of 
daggers,  and  hunting  knives  in  leather  cases.  We  bar- 
gained vainly.  Against  us  was  a  conspiracy  of  raised 
prices.  As  we  were  not  seriously  buying  we  left 
it  at  that.  What  we  really  were  looking  for  was  a  bell 
for  the  mess  table,   to   call  the  ubiquitous   Anthony. 


CARRYING  ON  133 

Neither  of  ua  knew  the  Serbian  for  **  bell,"  and  our 
attempts  to  describe  what  we  wanted  brought  nuieh 
puckering  of  eyebrows,  and  shaking  of  heads,  from  tlie 
proprietors  of  the  various  ironmongers'  shop^  we  tried. 
Eventually,  in  an  old  iron  store,  we  found  a  cow  l)ell, 
such  as  one  sees  in  Switzerlnml.  This  we  fell  upon 
joyously.     It  was  exactly  what  we  wanted. 

We  were  rather  proud  of  it  at  first.  It  stood  on  the 
mess  table,  and  .\nthony  answereil  it  promptly  no 
matter  where  he  was.  Evidently  he  loveil  it.  Perhaps 
the  sound  of  it  held  some  pleasant  Uiemury  for  him. 
(•radually,  therefore,  he  began  t(»  appro|)riate  it.  ll 
used  to  disappear  from  the  nuss  table.  It  found  its 
way  into  the  kitchen  more  and  more.  He  used  it  to  call 
his  saturnine  assistant,  and  summon  us  to  diimer.  We 
smiled  over  his  infatuation.  But,  when  he  started  to 
use  it  to  rouse  us  in  the  ehill  morning,  from  our  cosy 
slumlR'rs  to  a  seven  o'clock  breakfast,  we  began  rather 
to  dislike  it — passively  at  lirst,  then  actively. 

One  day  it  disai)p<ared.  No  one  asked  any  (piestions. 
It  simply  disappeared.  Anthony  was  disconstjlate,  but 
we  all  breathed  freely  again. 

It  was  the  day  after  we  bought  the  bell  that  we  dis- 
covered the  *•  II.W,"  the  great  mediaval  caravanserai 
of  Uskub. 

Barclay  and  I  had  been  wandering  in  the  street  of 
the  makers  of  filigree,  walking  into  their  tiny  shops, 
watching  the  deft  hands  of  the  us\jally  solitary  W(jrkmun 
as  he  turned  the  wire  with  consumate  skill  into  delicate 
spiral  designs,  bargaining  gently,  as  one  should  when 
dealing  with  an  artist. 

It  was  after  we  had  left  one  of  these  little  ral)bit 
hutches  that  we  saw  an  imposing  stone  gateway  down  a 
little  side  turning  of  miserable  lean-to  buildings,  where 
the  workers  in  sheep  skins  carried  on  their  occupation, 
cross-legged  in  public.  Over  the  gateway  was  a  long 
imposing  frontage  of  mouldering  cut  stone,  two  stories 
high,    jiierced    at    regular    intervals    by    little    square 


181  MY  RAT.KAN  LOG 

latticed  windows  without  glass,  surmounted  by  some 
squat,  lead-roofed  cupolas  and  twin  chimneys,  produc- 
ing a  curious  atmosphere  of  media'val  beauty  which 
j»ave  a  fiiiishij)^'  touch  to  the  picture. 

The  archway  itsilf  was  some  twenty  feet  deep,  lead- 
ing to  the  cloistered  quadranj,'le  within,  and  was  wide 
cnou^'h  to  allow  four  men  abreast  to  ride  l)cneath  its 
hospilabic  shade.  On  cither  side,  alon^'  the  whole 
length,  was  a  polished  stone  divan.  Here  in  ancient 
Turkish  times  sal  the  keeper  of  the  gate,  cross-legged, 
turbaned,  smoking  his  iiookali,  giving  grave  salutation 
to  the  incoming  merchants  followed  by  their  pack 
animals  laden  with  silks,  perfumes,  spices  and  jewellery. 
We  can  imagine  what  tales  he  could  tell  of  a  summer's 
evening  to  those  who  had  the  honour  of  an  invitation  to 
be  seated  in  his  company,  tales  of  the  perils  of  the  road, 
of  incursions  by  Illyrian  liandits,  of  Almissan  pirates, 
of  forced  levies  by  the  Baiii  of  Bosnia  whose  strongholds 
lay  on  the  great  caravan  route  from  Constantinople  to 
Ragusa,  of  sea  rovers  from  the  Greek  isles  attacking 
the  galleys  on  the  way  to  Salonika,  of  the  grim  Knights 
of  St.  John  of  Malta  who  had  fought  the  protecting 
fleet,  of  the  raids  of  the  Normans,  "  whom  may  Allah 
cause  to  perish,"  of  the  pride  of  the  Venetians,  and  their 
defeats  at  the  hands  of  the  Faithful.  In  his  time  he 
must  have  been  a  most  important  personage.  Now 
nothing  remains  but  tlie  stone  divan,  polished  by  the 
use  of  centuries. 

The  archway  leads  straight  into  the  great  quadrangle, 
in  the  centre  of  which  a  marble  fountain  once  played. 
The  broken  fountain  still  remains,  but  the  water  has 
ceased  to  flow.  At  our  entry  into  the  silent  square  two 
blue-white  pigeons  flapped  heavily  away.  All  around 
ran  cloisters,  with  square  stone  columns  supporting 
round  brick  arches.  The  ground  floor,  no  doubt,  was 
used  as  storehouses.  Stone  staircases,  on  two  sides  of 
the  quadrangle,  gave  access  to  the  upper  cloistered 
gallery,  from  which  open  doors  led  into  quaint  little 


CARRYING  ON  135 

chainlxrs,  with  enormously  thick  walls  niul  white- 
washed arched  ceilings,  each  room  lit  hy  a  deep  em- 
brasured window,  without  j;lass.  Circular  recesses  in 
tile  thickness  of  tiie  walls  acted  as  cupboards.  The 
rooms  looked  Imre  and  prison-like;  but  no  doubt  in  the 
old  days  hanjjing  curtains  ami  rich  carpets  from 
the  Orient  jjave  comfort  and  seclusion  to  the 
occupants,  who,  when  tluy  wished  to  discuss  busi- 
ness, could  spread  their  mats  outside  in  the  broad 
cloister«*d    corritlor. 

lii  the  middle  ajjes  Uskub  was  one  of  the  great  meet- 
ing places  l)otween  East  and  West,  and  a  flourishing 
Kagusun  colony  existed  in  conscjiuencc.  Here  came  the 
merchants  of  Macedonia,  and  lure  they  were  met  by  the 
noble  rnrrcators  of  the  famous  Republic.  Three  months 
was  not  an  uncommon  time  to  stay  at  tl»e  caravanserai, 
where,  after  the  leisurely  manner  of  the  East,  the  mer- 
chants met,  sipp<d  coffee  amiably  together,  ami 
exchanged  courtly  compliments  before  finally  descend- 
ing to  business, 

Obvi(nisly  .such  a  collect  it  »n  of  important  people 
required  an  entourage  in  keeping  ;  and,  to  accommodate 
this,  tliere  was  another  (juadranglc  behind,  in  which 
were  the  kitchens,  servants'  quarters,  and  stabling  for 
two  hundred  horses  in  a  huge  Imll,  built  like  the  crypt 
of  a  cathedral.  Here  dwelt  the  Vlach  drovers,  and  the 
armed  csc(jrt  which  accompanied  the  caravan  of  two  or 
three  hundred  horses  carrying  the  precious  cases  of  salt, 
from  the  pans  of  Ragusa  and  Cattaro,  on  whidi  the 
Balkan  jicoplc  absolutely  depended,  the  rich  gold 
brocades,  silks  and  satins  of  Venice,  the  jewelled  armour 
from  Ravenna,  which  the  great  Voyvods,  Zupans  and 
Pashas  coveted,  the  cloth,  glass-ware,  gold  and  silver 
ornaments  of  Rimini  and  Cervia,  which  the  Turks  could 
not  otherwise  obtain.  These  in  exchange  were  bartered 
for  the  raw  products  of  Serbia,  Bulgaria  and  Macedonia 
— cattle,  wool,  hides,  honey,  wax,  cheese,  silver  and 
iron  ore,  gold,  lead,  copper,  (piicksilver  and  tin.     It 


186  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

was  an  enormous  business ;  and  to  deal  with  it  Ragusan 
colonies  were  scattered  all  over  the  Balkans.  They 
established  mints,  farmed  the  taxes,  worked  the  mines, 
practically  controlled  the  internal  as  well  as  the  external 
trade  from  the  Adriatic  to  the  Black  Sea,  from  the 
Danube  to  the  JEgean. 

Little  wonder,  then,  that  they  had  built  for  them- 
selves such  immense  caravanserais  as  this  great  *'  Han  " 
at  Uskub.  The  breadth  of  design,  the  spaciousness,  the 
immense  strength  of  the  building,  impressed  us  greatly. 
The  architect  evidently  meant  it  to  last  for  all  time. 
He  had  no  doubts  of  its  continued  usefulness. 

And  now  all  these  things  are  dead.  Gone  are  the 
glories  of  Ragusa.  Its  merchant  princes  are  no  more. 
The  very  name  of  the  Republic  is  forgotten.  To  point 
out  its  site  on  the  map  is  too  much  for  most  educated 
people  of  to-day. 

"  And  to  think  that  this  wonderful  place  is  now  used 
only  as  an  occasional  overflow  barracks  for  troops," 
said  Barclay.     Sic  Transit —  ! 


Next  day  was  New  Year's  day,  January  1st,  1915. 
In  Slav  countries  the  beginning  of  the  year  is  a  most 
important  event,  and  it  is  the  correct  thing  to  leave 
cards  on  all  one's  friends,  and  the  people  one  does  not 
like,  but  wishes  to  placate.  But  it  was  only  their 
eighteenth  of  December  in  Serbia,  according  to  the 
Julian  calendar,  so  when  we  found  ourselves  snowed 
out  by  cards  from  all  the  official  people,  we  thought 
it  rather  charming  of  them  to  remember. 

Barclay  and  I  and  a  stray  Englishman,  a  mining 
engineer  from  up-country,  were  dining  with  the  Consul 
that  night. 

"  What  you've  got  to  remember,  in  reply,  is  that  their 
Christmas  is  next  week,  and  their  New  Year  a  week 
later,"  he  said.  *' I'm  looking  forward  to  trouble  in 
the  New  Year,"  he  added  gravely. 


CARRYING  ON  137 

-Why?"  I  said. 

'*  Because  Northern  Macedonia  is  to  become  part  of 
Serbia,  officially,  on  the  first  of  January.  The  people 
are  to  have  elections,  and  api)oint  members  to  the 
••  Skupshtina." 

"  But  why  should  that  cause  trouble?'' 

The  Consul  smiled,  and  remained  silent ;  but  the 
engineer,  who  had  no  utliciul  reticences  to  maintain, 
answered  : 

**  Why  !  Because  they  will  then  ]>e  subject  to  con- 
scription. The  young  men  will  be  called  up  to  swell  the 
denuded  Serbian  Army,  and  they  do  not  like  it.  Many 
of  them  are  Bulgar  in  sympathy.  Such  as  are 
Mohammedans  are  afraid  they  may  be  called  upon  to 
fight  against  their  co-religionists.  The  Albanians  and 
Tziganes  don't  want  to  fight  for  anyone,  except  for 
and  amongst  themselves.  So  there  you  are  !  The 
average  Macedonian  is  neither  Serb,  nor  (Ireek,  iit»r 
Bulgar.  He's  just  whatever  suits  him  at  the  tiiiu". 
Lord  I  The  Macrdoiiian  (jiustion  I  There's  going 
to  be  *  small  hell  '  when  they  begin  to  rope  in 
recruits  in  Uskub.  The  bazaar  is  seething  with 
revolt    already." 

The  Consul  smiled  gravely. 

''  Nationality  in  Macedonia  is  largely  a  question  of 
religion,"  he  said.  **  At  one  time  all  these  people  be- 
longed to  the  Greek  Church,  and  so  were  classed  as 
Greeks,  though  often  they  could  not  speak  a  word  of 
Greek.  Then  the  Serbian  Orthodox  Church  was  recog- 
nised by  the  wily  Turk,  who  wished  to  divide  the 
Christians,  and  people  of  this  church  were  considered 
Serbs.  Of  course,  the  Serbs  soon  began  a  propaganda 
to  expand  their  Church ;  and  the  priests  of  the  two  sects 
started  fighting  over  the  bodies  of  the  infants,  inveig- 
ling them  into  their  separate  schools.  Then  the  Bul- 
gars  took  a  hand.  Their  Church — the  Exarch — is 
slightly  dilTcrent,  and  people  who  are  "  Exarches  "  are 
considered  Bulgars.     The  Greeks  and  Serbs  do  not  re- 


188  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

cognise  the  Exarch,  and  so  lioth  churches  mutually  ex- 
communicate one  another." 

The  Engineer  smiled  at  some  memories. 
"  I  remember  in  the  old  days,  that  is  some  five  to  ten 
years  ago,  wandering  hands  of  Komitadgi  used  to  con- 
vert whole  villages  to  the  Greek,  Serb  or  Bulgar  Church 
by  the  sword." 

Noting  my  surprised  look,  he  continued. 
"  I  know.  It  sounds  almost  incredible.  But  it's 
true.  Those  who  did  not  'vert  were  simply  pillaged  or 
even  occasionally  slaughtered  by  their  fellow  Christians. 
The  Turks  looked  on  and  smiled.  It  suited  their  policy 
splendidly  to  have  these  Christians  love  one  another  in 
this  way.  As  a  rule  they  connived  alternately  at  the 
doings  of  one  or  other  side,  as  suited  them ;  but  when 
things  became  too  lively  they  fell  on  both  impartially, 
and  there  was  another  Macedonian  massacre  to  horrify 
Europe.     How  the  Turks  must  have  smiled  1  " 

"  But  are  these  Macedonian  people  really  different 
racially  ?^'  I  asked. 

"  In  a  way,  yes,  and  no.  They're  just  Macedonians. 
The  Serb  proper,  and  the  Bulgar  proper  are  quite  dis- 
tinct races.  The  Bulgar  is  not  a  Slav,  though  he  speaks 
a  Slav  language.  The  Macedonian  is  a  mixture  of 
Albanian,  Serb,  and  Bulgar,  with  Greek  on  the  littoral. 
The  dialect  is  equally  understood  by  the  Serb  and  the 
Bulgar.  There's  very  little  Greek  in  it.  The  people 
here  say  they're  Serb  now ;  but  if  the  Bulgar  came  next 
week  they  would  be  Bulgar.  Both  countries  have  held 
sway  over  Macedonia  in  the  past,  and  both  claim,  his- 
torically, that  it  belongs  to  them.  The  Greek,  of  course, 
has  a  stronger  claim  historically,  but  not  racially,  than 
either  of  them.  Probably  the  rightful  owner  is  the 
*'  Vlach,"  whom  nobody  ever  considers,  because  he 
doesn't  bother  about  it  at  all." 

"Lord!       What  a  muddle,"  said  Barclay,  yawning 
slightly,  as  we  got  up  to  go. 


CARRYING  ON  139 

By  this  time  we  were  getting  very  short  of  pipe 
tobacco,  nothing  having  as  yet  come  through  to  us  from 
England.  There  was,  of  course,  lots  of  contraband 
tobacco  in  the  country,  and  we  had  tried  it.  But  none 
of  us  could  smoke  it.  When  the  Chief  announced  next 
evening,  therefore,  at  dinner  that  he  was  going  to 
Salonika  in  the  morning,  we  commissioned  him  urgently 
to  bring  back  anything  in  the  shape  of  civilised  tobacco 
he  could  find. 

Salonika  then,  as  later,  was  the  home  of  the  wildest 
rumours.  Most  of  these  we  discounted ;  but  occasion- 
ally we  grey  uneasy  when  they  persisted  for  more  than 
a  week. 

The  latest  story  that  had  come  to  us  was  that  Greece 
was  on  the  eve  of  declaring  war  on  Turkey,  that  200,000 
Turks  were  concentrated  at  Adrianople,  ready  to  make 
a  dash  across  the  frontier ;  and  that  if  they  did  so,  the 
line  to  (ihevgeli  would  be  dosed  to  civilian  tratlic,  thus 
cutting  off  Serbia  indefinitely.  This  would  have  been  a 
serious  matter  for  us,  as  most  of  the  cash  of  the  unit 
was  banked  at  Salonika,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to 
get  gold  over  the  frontier  once  war  was  declared.  If 
then,  the  rumours  were  true,  and  it  was  possible  we 
might  have  to  trek  through  Montenegro,  it  was  very 
advisable  we  should  obtain  our  gold  as  soon  as  possible. 
That  was  the  object  of  the  Chief's  journey. 

The  train  from  Nish  was  scheduled  to  arrive  in  Uskub 
at  five-thirty  in  the  morning,  and  due  to  leave  for 
Salonika  at  about  a  quarter  to  six.  But  frequently  it 
did  not  arrive  until  after  eight,  and  those  who  did  not 
know  this  were  kept  hanging  about  in  the  raw  morning 
air  for  hours.  We  were  scarcely  five  minutes  from  the 
station  ;  and  when  anyone  went  by  train  our  practice 
was  to  send  Anthony  over  to  find  out  when  the  train 
was  due. 

For  a  fortnight  it  had  been  persistently  late ;  but  of 
course  it  just  happened  to  be  in  time  that  morning ;  and 
the  Chief,  breakfasting  leisurely  at  six-thirty,  missed  it. 


140  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

When  we  arrived  at  breakfast,  therefore,  we  found  him 
very  crestfallen. 

During  the  day  a  rumour  went  round  amongst  the 
Serbs  that  a  trainload  of  English  suffragettes  was  pass- 
ing through  Uskub  that  night.  What  they  were  doing 
in  Serbia  no  one  seemed  to  know ;  but  everyone  was 
very  curious  to  sec  them,  as  the  most  extraordinary 
stories  of  their  exploits  in  England  just  before  the  war 
had  circulated  in  the  Balkan  papers.  When  the  train 
from  Salonika  was  due  that  evening,  therefore,  the 
station  was  crowded  with  politely  curious  people,  in- 
cluding practically  all  the  English  in  Uskuli — Lady 
Paget,  Major  Morrison,  Mr  Chichester  of  the  Serbian 
Relief  Unit,  the  Consul,  one  or  two  stray  English 
doctors,  and  ourselves. 

It  was  a  beautiful  mild  starry  night ;  and  people 
wandered  al)out  aimlessly  in  the  half  darkness,  over  the 
rails  as  one  does  in  Continental  stations  where  there  are 
no  high  platforms,  until  the  train  was  sighted.  There 
was  a  stop  for  half  an  hour,  and  so  windows  and  doors 
opened,  and  the  cramped  passengers  climbed  down  from 
the  dark  carriages,  to  stretch  weary  limbs  and  forage  for 
hot  coffee  in  the  railway  restaurant. 

"  \Miat  place  is  this?"  I  heard  a  woman  say  in  a 
Scotch  accent,  as  she  peered  doubtfully  from  the 
carriage  door  opposite  me. 

"  This  is  Uskub,"  I  told  her,  and  thus  we  introduced 
ourselves  to  one  another. 

Soon  we  had  a  bevy  of  them  round  us — nurses  in  their 
neat  uniform,  fine  healthy,  capable-looking  women, 
carrying  the  old  familiar  atmosphere  of  order  and  clean- 
liness with  them,  an  atmosphere  which  we,  struggling 
with  the  Augean  stables  of  Serbian  inefficiency,  had 
well-nlgli  forgotten. 

With  the  camaraderie  of  the  profession  we  were  all 
friends  at  once.  They  told  us  they  were  the  Scottish 
Women's  Unit,  and  that  they  were  going  to  Kraguie- 
vatz.     Thej^  hadn't  learnt  to  pronounce  it  quite  right, 


CARRYING  ON  141 

but  we  knew  what  they  meant.  They  were  very  proud 
of  their  unit,  very  proud  of  being  Scotch,  very  keen  to 
learn  what  sort  of  conditions  they  would  have  to  tackle. 
They  told  us  of  the  amount  of  equipment  they  had,  the 
number  of  beds  they  proposed  working,  the  sort  of  work 
they  hoped  to  do.  To  hear  them  talk  was  like  a 
draught  of  wine  to  us,  rather  weary,  rather  overworked, 
rather  inclined  not  to  mind  that  the  original  keen  edge 
of  our  endeavour  had  been  blunted. 

Then  a  very  serious  little  oval-faced  woman  tackled 
Barclay  and  myself.  She  was  one  of  the  lady  doctors 
in  charge  of  the  unit.  She  asked  us  questions,  very 
shrewd  searching  questions,  which  we  answered  to  the 
best  of  our  ability.  She  took  notes  solemnly  of  what 
we  said,  with  the  prim  air  of  an  examining  school- 
mistress. She  was  so  very  serious  I  almost  laughed. 
IJut,  remembering  the  enormous  problem  she  would 
be  up  against,  I  steadied  myself.  It  was  most 
important  she  should  know.  We  told  her  every- 
tlung  we  could  think  of  that  miglit  help  her. 
Finally  she  put  the  notebook  away,  thanked  us  in 
her  prim  little  formal  way,  and  went  ofi  some- 
where in  the  gloom  to  attend  to  something  with  an 
air    of   complete    capability. 

I  never  learnt  her  name.*  I  fancy,  somehow,  she 
died  out  there  when  the  epidemic  came.  But  whether 
she  did  or  not,  I  am  quite  sure  that  a  large 
proportion  of  the  splendid  success  of  that  unit  was 
due    to    her. 

When  she  had  gone  we  returned  to  the  nurses,  col- 
lected a  bevy  of  them,  and  guided  them  to  the 
Restaurant  where  they  revelled  in  the  hot  coffee  and 
rolls  which  twelve  hours  in  a  train  without  decent  food 
made  so  acceptable.  After  seeing  that  the  woman  in 
the  bar  gave  them  thirty  dinars  for  the  sovereign,  in- 
stead of  the  twenty-two  she  tried  to  foist  on  them,  we 
left,  wishing  them  good  luck.     Then  we  went  to  look 

•  It  may  have  been  LLsic  Iiiglis. 


142  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

for  the  Consul,  guessing  something  was  afoot,  because 
he  was  behaving  in  the  mildly  mysterious  way  he  always 
did  when  he  temporarily  put  off  his  friendly  and 
assumed  his  ofTicial  manner.  Knowing  the  symptoms 
well,  it  always  amused  us  to  try  and  find  out  what  it 
was  all  about.  We  wandered  up  the  length  of  the  train, 
therefore,  searching  for  him,  until  we  came  opposite 
some  closed  carriages  out  of  whose  windows  the 
heads  of  a  number  of  men,  apparently  civilians, 
projected. 

"  Blime,  Bill,  if  there  ain't  a  British  Orficer  a 
walkin'  abaht  quite  open  in  uniform,"  I  heard  one  man 
say  in  a  surprised,  unguarded  tone. 

And  then  the  murder  was  out.  The  accent,  the  lean, 
clean-shaven  faces  of  the  men  gave  the  show  away  com- 
pletely. It  was  a  detachment  of  British  blue-jackets, 
disguised  absurdly  in  ready-made  civilian  clothes,  being 
sent  up  to  Belgrade  to  make  it  hot  for  the  Austrian 
monitors  on  the  Danube. 

They  were  under  the  command  of  a  "  commercial 
traveller,"  whose  letters  came  to  the  Consul  in  the  F.O. 
bag  with  **  Captain  R.N."  on  them.  It  was  the  story 
of  '*  our  Mr  Brown  "  over  again.  We  ran  him  down 
talking  to  the  Consul.  He  was  carrying  thirty-two  tons 
of  explosives  with  him — "  samples  "  he  called  them. 
They  were  labelled  "  Paprika — Hot  Stuff,"  he  told  us 
with  a  quiet  chuckle. 

Paprika  is  red  pepper,  the  national  condiment  of 
Serbia,  so  we  fully  appreciated  the  joke,  though  we 
thought  the  Austrians  wouldn't.  Of  course,  the  dis- 
guise w^as  obvious  to  anyone.  Indeed  it  was  not  meant 
to  deceive;  but  Greece  was  still,  theoretically,  a  neutral 
state,  and  to  have  combatants  passing  through 
blatantly  would  have  been  considered  bad  form.  As 
long,  therefore,  as  they  entered  technically  as  civilians, 
officialdom  took  no  notice. 

But  to  resume.  While  we  were  talking  in  the 
Consul's  group,   a   cheery   little   man,   with   a   Scotch 


CARRYING  ON  143 

bonnet  and  the  appropriate  accent,  came  up,  asked  for 
ine,  said  he  was  the  quartermaster  of  the  Scottish  Unit, 
and  handed  me  a  letter.  I  tore  it  open  eagerly,  and 
found  it  was  from  our  friend  in  Malta,  saying  he  had 
received  my  five  pounds,  and  was  sending  the  first  in- 
stalment of  the  tobacco  for  which  I  had  asked  by  the 
bearer  of  the  letter. 

When  Barclay  and  I  grasped  this,  we  whooped  for 
joy.  Everything  else  was  forgotten.  We  were  practic- 
ally at  the  end  of  our  supply,  and  this  was  like  manna 
in  the  wilderness. 

"  Produce  the  goods,"  we  cried  in  high  glee,  thinking 
he  had  the  parcel  in  his  carriage. 

'•  Cerrtainly,"  he  said.  **  It  is  bchint  wi'  the  baggage 
o'  the  unit." 

Then  a  great  fear  fell  on  us.  We  knew  the  Serbs. 
He  didn't.  He  thought  he  was  still  in  Glasgow,  where 
a  parcel  in  the  van  could  be  reclaimed  immediately. 
We  knew  that  once  out  of  sight  it  might  never  be  re- 
covered. Consequently  we  were  quite  sick  with 
anxiety  when  we  began  to  search.  Of  course  it  was 
hopeless.  We  could  not  even  find  the  baggage  of  the 
unit.  No  doubt  it  was  somewhere  in  Serbia,  and  with 
it  our  precious  tobacco.  The  little  man  was  deeply 
apologetic.  He  offered  to  have  a  search  made  imme- 
diately they  got  to  Nish.  He  promised,  when  he  found 
it,  to  send  it  back  by  special  messenger.  He  pressed 
us  to  take  all  the  tobacco  he  had  on  his  person,  as  a 
placebo.  It  was  useless.  We  were  absolutely  discon- 
solate. We  hadn't  even  the  lack  of  conscience  to  spoil 
him  of  his  own  tobacco,  knowing  that  in  all  probability 
his  reserve  supplies  would  be  lost  as  well.  The  whole 
episode  put  the  damper  on  our  evening's  amusement. 
We  said  good-bye  to  them  all,  and  saw  them  off 
despondingly.  Then  we  went  back  to  our  quarters  and 
cursed  the  Scotsman.  It  made  us  mad  to  feel  that  the 
precious  stuff  was  careering  over  Serbia,  past  the  right- 
ful owners  who  were  cravhig  for  it.     Next  mornhig  the 


144  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Chief  managed  to  catch  the  train  for  Salonika,  carrying 
our  accumulated  mails  ;  and  a  halcyon  calm  fell  over  the 
unit. 

A  week  later  the  tobacco  turned  up  all  right,  and  we 
forgave  the  Scotsman. 


I'l.itc   \ll.       riir   M.irkrt.      A    displnx    of  i...tt<T>    (j..    1  i:.». 


CIIAPTEU  VII 
CHRISTMASTIDE 

Iho  Circat  Christmas  Fair — Tlic  "  drad  "  and  n  womh-rfiil  screen — 
A  vihion  of  the  mountains — Why  the  little  fat  m.ui  fill  ujxDn  the 
sentry — Moslem  taints — Ceremonial  collee  drinking  with  a  Holy 
Man — The  Serbian  Christmas,  not  for^ettinjf  the  Badnyak,  Polas- 
nik,  and  roast  suckiiit;  pij^ — A  climh  to  a  mountain  village — 
Turkish  >fru%eynrd*— The  Little  Ul»1  Woman  and  the  Lady  with 
the  yellow  ito».kin>ji» — A  dinner  at  the  Drinoski  and  God  »aTo  the 
King. 

IT  was  Christmas  week  in  St-rljia,  uiul  prepurutions 
for  the  great  feast  were  already  in  evidence.  The 
Tuesday  market  was  the  pnatest  of  the  year.  On 
that  day  all  the  peasants  for  nuks  round  hrou^'ht  their 
best  produce,  their  finest  embroidery,  their  gayest 
tapestry  wt»rk,  in  the  hope  of  findin;,'  generous  customers 
who  woukl  supply  the  money  fur  their  own  Christmas 
purchases  in  the  town.  The  Consul  told  me  he  was  on 
the  look-out  for  certain  types  of  very  choice  embroidery 
which  usually  appeared  only  about  this  time,  or  Eister ; 
and  so,  on  that  morning  we  promenaded  together  up 
and  down,  noting  things  but  never  offering  to  buy  our- 
selves. That  part  was  left  to  one  of  the  Albanian 
kavasses  (Consular  servants),  or  the  chief  dragoman, 
Barraca,  a  little  Spanish  Jew,  who  could  haggle  and 
drive  much  better  bargains  than  cither  of  us. 

Half  the  nurses  from  the  Paget  Unit  seemed  to  be  in 
the  market.  They  went  into  ecstasies  over  certain 
native  costumes,  and  constantly  called  upon  us  to 
approve  their  choice,  or  mitigate  the  demands  of  the 
would-be  sellers.  It  was  obvious  the  market  was  rising 
owing  to  the  pretence  of  the  English  community.  Some 
K  145 


146  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

of  the  Serb  ladies,  we  heard  afterwards,  complained 
bitterly. 

The  Consul  was  unable  to  buy  anything.  "  They 
will  be  much  cheaper  after  Christmas,"  he  said  philoso- 
phically, knowing  he  could  afford  to  wait.  But  some  of 
the  nurses  could  not  wait.  Their  contracts  were  expir- 
ing in  February,  and  half  at  least  of  them  had  decided  to 
return  to  England.  Naturally,  therefore,  they  were 
eager  to  collect  as  much  as  they  could  in  the  time  left 
at  their  disposal.  So  they  had  to  allow  themselves  to 
be  fleeced,  consoling  themselves  with  the  thought  that, 
even  at  the  enhanced  prices,  what  they  bought  would  be 
cheap  in  England. 


Barclay  and  I  used  to  take  turns  to  be  operating 
surgeon  for  the  week,  and  whoever  was  not  on  duty 
usually  found  he  could  finish  hospital  by  tea  time.  It 
was  my  week  off,  and  finding  things  quiet,  I  arranged 
one  afternoon  a  few  days  later  to  go  sight-seeing  with 
the  Consul.  It  was  an  opportunity  not  to  be  missed, 
for  he  was  steeped  in  the  lore  of  the  Orient,  a  mine  of 
information  on  all  things  Turkish. 

Our  objective  that  day  was  an  ancient  Christian 
church  with  a  famous  screen ;  and,  if  we  had  time  after- 
wards, we  intended  going  round  "  The  GRAD,"  as  the 
old  Turkish  fortress  was  called. 

In  Uskub  the  Grad  dominates  everything.  The  town 
itself  lies  in  the  middle  of  a  triangular  plain,  with 
mountains  all  round.  In  this  plain,  overhanging  the 
river,  there  rises  a  solitary  precipitous  high  hill ;  and 
on  this  hill  is  the  Grad.  It  is  clear  that  the  city  gradu- 
ally grew  under  the  shelter  of  the  hill,  owed,  indeed, 
its  position  to  the  fact  that  the  hill  could  be  fortified, 
made  almost  impregnable  in  the  old  days  before  the 
range  of  modern  artillery.  The  site  was  obviously 
chosen  for  its  immense  strength.  The  Vardar,  flowing 
just  below  its  walls,  kept  it  safe  from  any  water  famine, 


CHRISTMASTIDE  147 

so  that,  if  properly  provisioned  and  garrisoned,  there 
was  no  reason,  in  the  old  days,  why  it  should  ever  have 
been  taken.  There  must  indeed  have  been  some  sort 
of  fortress  there  from  time  immemorial.  Always  from 
any  part  of  the  old  city  its  battlemented  white  walls 
could  be  seen,  and  often,  when  we  had  got  hopelessly 
lost  in  the  Turkish  quarter,  we  used  to  steer  by  it  to 
known  country  again. 

Coming  over  the  Vardar  bridge  that  afternoon  we 
looked  at  it,  high  up,  ethereal  in  the  blue. 

''  I  think,"  said  the  Consul,  ''  we'd  better  see 
the  Church  first,  it  gets  dark  in  the  little  place 
so  early." 

So  we  walked  slowly  up  the  precipitous  street  to  the 
top  of  the  hill,  until  we  came  to  the  crumbling  walls  of 
the  great  bastion  of  the  Fortress  built  in  Byzantine 
days.  Then  we  turned  across  the  old  market  square, 
past  the  house  of  the  potter,  along  a  blind  wall. 

"  This  is  the  Church,"  said  the  Consul. 

"  Can't  see  any  church,"  I  said. 

"  No.  You  will  in  a  moment,  though.  Christians 
were  not  encouraged  to  make  their  churches  prominent 
in  Moslem  countries,  even  though  the  Moslem  has 
always  been  more  tolerant  than  the  Christian." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke  through  a  postern  gate  in  the 
wall,  and  we  were  in  a  little  flagged  courtyard.  A  small 
wooden  belfry,  surmounted  by  a  cross,  stood  just  inside 
the  door.  At  the  opposite  end  of  the  courtyard  were  a 
few  tombstones,  close  to  a  low  arched  red-tiled  roof, 
under  which  circular  steps  descended  to  the  church  door, 
making  the  building  almost  underground.  Inside  the 
doorway  was  a  stall  displaying  candles,  which  the  pious 
bought  and  lit  before  the  Ikon  of  the  saint.  The  church 
itself  was  a  tiny  building,  capable  of  accommodating 
possibly  a  hundred  people.  There  were  no  pews,  but 
round  the  walls  were  a  row  of  plain,  much-worn  wooden 
stalls,  and  at  the  back  was  a  grille  behind  which  women 
were  relegated. 


148  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

The  church  itself  had  no  architectural  pretensions. 
It  was  a  drab,  dim-lit  place.  What  gave  it  distinction 
throughout  all  Serbia,  however,  was  the  screen.  This 
was  a  most  wonderful  structure  of  carved  wood,  dark 
with  the  grime  of  centuries,  representing  over  three 
hundred  Biblical  scenes  ranging  from  the  Garden  of 
Eden  to  the  Crucifixion  and  Ascension.  Three  brothers 
were  responsible  for  it,  and  it  represented  the  work  of 
over  thirty  years. 

It  was  a  vast  thing,  overpoweringly  so  in  the  tiny 
church,  which  it  cramped  and  dominated.  Perhaps  it 
was  from  some  subconscious  appreciation  of  this  that 
the  priests  had  hung  little  tinsel  pictures  of  Byzantine 
saints  all  over  it,  as  if  to  make  it  less  imposing,  more 
companionable. 

When  we  entered  the  church  it  was  empty,  save  for 
one  solitary  priest  intoning  in  a  corner.  All  the  while 
we  were  examining  the  screen,  he  kept  on  at  his  service 
in  a  plaintive  recitative,  occasionally  moving  from  place 
to  place,  swinging  a  curiously  carved  silver  bowl  of 
burning  incense,  taking  absolutely  no  notice  of  us. 

"Do  you  think  he  is  annoyed  with  us?*'  I  said. 
"  Are  we  disturbing  him  ?" 

**  Not  at  all.  He  simply  doesn't  know  that  we  exist," 
replied  the  Consul. 

I  watched  him  in  his  gorgeous  vestments,  his  draggled 
beard  falling  on  his  chest,  his  long  grey  hair  tied  in  a 
pigtail  behind,  his  general  air  of  griminess  of  face  and 
hands  and  nails  ;  and  as  I  watched  I  felt  that  I  was  look- 
ing at  a  resurrection — for  the  figure  exactly  reproduced 
those  found  in  old  illuminated  mediaeval  manuscripts, 
depicting  famous  Bishops,  Saints  and  Martyrs  of  the 
Church,  in  early  Christian  times. 

"  Why  does  piety  go  with  dirt  in  this  country?"  I 
asked,  as  we  gained  the  street  again. 

"  Oh,  well.  Our  mediaeval  Bishops  were  not  any 
cleaner,  and  we've  both  known  dons  who  were  very  so 
so.       After  all  cleanliness  is  an  invention  of  the  19th 


CHRISTMASTIDE  149 

century.  Only  the  Moslem  is  clean  in  the  East,"  said 
the  Consul  tolerantly. 

Talking  thus  we  crossed  the  road  and  entered  the 
Grad.  It  was  a  wide  spacious  place  with  various 
barrack-like  buildings,  and  one  great  square  in  which  a 
brigade  could  have  manoeuvred.  We  were  not  inter- 
ested in  the  hospital  part  of  it.  What  we  wanted  to 
see  was  the  sunset  from  the  battlements,  for  from  the 
saluting  battery  on  the  old  Roman  bastion  the  view 
over  the  city  and  the  surrounding  country  was  immense. 
All  around  and  below  us  were  the  spires  and  minarets, 
the  quaint  irregular  streets,  the  little  tree-sheltered 
courtyards  around  the  red-roofed  houses  of  the  Turkish 
town,  through  which  the  broad  Vardar  rolled  in  sinuous, 
sweeping  coils  southward  to  the  rim  of  the  flat  horizon. 
Everywhere,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  were  queer 
irregularly  dotted  white  areas,  which  we  recognised  as 
the  Turkish  graveyards,  so  characteristic  of  the  place. 

Then  as  the  eye  swept  over  the  foothills,  north  and 
west  and  east,  one  came  upon  the  mountains.  To  the 
east  beyond  Kumanovo  were  those  on  the  Bulgarian 
frontier.  To  the  north  was  the  great  black  mountain 
of  Uskul>— the  Tzarnagora — now  covered  with  ravine- 
shadowed  snow.  But  it  was  the  west  that  brought  a 
light  to  the  eyes,  a  tightness  to  the  throat ;  for  there  in 
the  sunset  lay  the  great  ranges  of  the  Chara  mountains 
clothed  in  perpetual  snow,  culminating  in  one  huge  blue- 
white  sugar-loafed  peak — Lynboton — a  shimmering 
haze  of  beauty,  pink  in  the  evening  sunlight,  curiously 
resembling  the  famous  Fujiyama,  in  the  middle  island 
of  Japan,  seen  when  steaming  south  from  Yokohama  in 
the  early  morning. 

Always  in  Uskub  one  had  the  feeling  of  those  blue- 
white  mountains  lifting  their  peaks  towards  heaven ; 
and  often  later,  when  one  felt  depressed,  the  sight  of 
them,  caught  at  an  unexpected  angle  from  some  squalid 
street,  sent  a  shiver  of  delight  that  raised  one  for  the 
moment  into  the  eternal,  the  unchangeable,  away  from 


150  MY  RALKAN  LOG 

the  crowded  misery  of  the  immediate.  For  mountains, 
especially  snow-clad  mountains,  somehow  seem  to  make 
one  feel  small,  evanescent.  They  are  so  solemn,  so 
pure,  so  steadfast,  so  unaffected  hy  time,  that  one's 
little  affairs  seem  to  melt  to  insignificant  proportions 
in  their  presence.  Feeling  this,  one  understands  why 
the  Greeks  placed  Zeus  on  High  Olympus.  It  was  a 
natural  corollary. 


Uskub  is  a  city  of  many  mosques ;  but  in  our  time 
they  were  nearly  all  deserted,  for  most  of  the  wealthy 
Turks  had  departed  after  the  annexation.  Gradually, 
therefore,  the  Serbs  had  begun  to  appropriate  them, 
turning  them,  while  we  were  there,  into  military  store- 
houses, barracks,  or  refugee  shelters  for  those  who  had 
fled  from  Northern  Serbia  before  the  Austrians. 

Practically  every  mosque  has  been  erected  to  the 
memory  of  some  '*  Holy  man,"  and  the  tomb  of  the 
saint  is  always  attached  to  the  mosque.  Uskub  was  full 
of  the  tombs  of  these  '""  Holy  men  "  in  all  sorts  of  un- 
expected places,  for  every  holy  man  did  not  have  a 
mosque  to  his  memory.  There  was  one  such  tomb  in 
the  Citadel  itself. 

As  a  rule  the  Serbs  were  very  punctilious  in  preserving 
them  from  desecration,  and  such  as  were  associated 
with  a  mosque  were  always  kept  under  lock  and  key,  so 
that  one  had  to  hunt  round  for  the  keeper  if  one  wished 
to  see  them. 

Almost  opposite  the  entrance  to  the  citadel  there  was 
a  most  imposing  mosque,  used  no  doubt  by  the  pasha  in 
command  in  the  great  days  of  Turkish  sovereignty.  On 
our  way  back  from  the  Grad  we  tried  to  get  in,  but 
found  it  sealed.  Looking  in  a  side  window  we  saw 
that  it  was  piled  high  with  kerosene  tins.  Then  we 
thought  we  would  have  a  look  for  the  tomb  of  the  Holy 
man.  It  was  in  a  little  cupola-shaped  building  along- 
side.    We  tried  the  door.     It  was  locked. 


CHRISTMASTIDE  151 

All  the  tiliie  a  Serbian  sentr>'  on  guard  over  the 
kerosene  store  was  eyeing  us  most  suspiciously.  When 
we  tried  to  get  into  the  tomb  it  was  too  much  for  him, 
and  he  advanced  witli  tixed  bayonet,  cliallenging  us  in  a 
patois  of  which  tlie  Consul  could  make  nothing. 
Obviously  he  was  a  newcomer,  and  was  puzzled  by  my 
uniform.  In  vain  we  expostulated  with  him.  He 
would  have  none  of  us. 

'*  And  the  comic  part  of  it  is,  he  is  speaking  in  a 
Bulgarian  dialect,*'  said  the  Consul. 

The  remainder  of  the  guard  were  now  approaching, 
looking    very    surly.       Obviously    we    would    have    to 

go- 

At  that  moment,  however,  a  fat  person  in  civilian 
clothes  came  strolling  rotmd  the  comer,  recognised  the 
Consul,  spoke  to  him  in  German,  and  found  out  what 
was  the  matter. 

Then  suddenly  he  seemed  to  get  perfectly  furious, 
turning  and  rending  the  sentry,  calling  him  a  fool,  the 
son  of  a  fool,  the  father  of  fools,  an  ass,  a  mule  with 
neither  pride  of  ancestry  nor  hope  of  posterity.  It  was 
a  wonderful  effort  in  vituperation,  and  the  guard  visibly 
wilted. 

He  informed  them  that  we  were  Englesi  from  the 
great  country  across  the  sea  which  was  the  friend  of 
little  Serbia,  and  that  the  sentry  had  offered  it  a  deadly 
insult  in  impeding  us.  He  added  casually  that  any  true 
Serb  would  have  known  all  this,  and  that  he,  evidently, 
was  only  an  ignorant  Bulgar. 

By  this  time  gradually  the  guard  had  been  melting 
away,  sneaking  off  shamefacedly,  trying  to  appear  as 
if  the  sentry  had  nothing  to  do  with  them.  Obviously 
the  day  was  won.  The  sentry  suddenly  came  to  the 
salute,  turned  and  marched  off.  Personally  I  felt  quite 
sorry  for  him,  he  was  so  absolutely  in  the  right. 

A  sudden  calm  now  fell  on  the  fat  person.  From  a 
strutting  turkey-cock  he  altered  to  a  cooing  dove. 

Did  we  want  to  see  the  Mosque  ?     Did  we  want  to  see 


152  MY  BALKAN  LOO 

the  Holy  man's  tomb  ?  We  had  only  to  order.  From 
somewhere  on  his  person  he  produced  a  huge  key,  like  a 
small  axe  in  size,  and  led  the  way  to  the  tomb.  We 
followed  meekly,  for  we  did  not  really  want  to  see  it 
very  much.  But  he  insisted  so,  we  felt  we  ought  to 
satisfy  him.  He  threw  open  the  door  with  a  magnifi- 
cent gesture. 

It  was  a  small,  domed  chamber  with  whitewashed 
walls.  In  the  middle  of  the  floor  was  the  tomb,  a 
sarcophagus  shaped  like  an  old-fashioned  cradle, 
covered  with  a  pall  of  rich  blue  velvet,  heavily  edged 
with  gold  fringe  and  great  gold  tassels.  At  the  head 
of  the  tomb  was  a  huge  fez.  Four  tall  brass  candle- 
sticks were  placed,  one  at  each  angle. 

"  In  Turkish  days  candles  would  have  been  burning 
in  them,"  said  the  Consul. 

"  What  an  odd-looking  fez,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  that !  It's  a  Bektashi  fez.  The  Holy  man 
must  have  belonged  to  the  Dervish  order  of  the 
Bektashi,  one  of  the  secret  sects,  and  a  most  powerful 
one." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  go  and  call  on  a  real  live 
Holy  man  ?"  he  added. 

I  jumped  at  the  proposal,  and,  taking  farewell  of  the 
keeper  of  the  tomb,  we  plunged  forthwith  down  the 
nearest  lane  into  the  Turkish  quarter,  through  the 
street  of  the  cordwainers,  past  that  of  the  wheel- 
wrights, and  the  workers  in  bronze  until  we  came 
to  the  great  main  artery  of  the  bazaar — the  street 
which  had  been  roofed  over  before  the  advent  of 
the  Serbs. 

Along  this  we  moved,  permeated  by  the  atmosphere 
of  the  place,  walking  in  true  Oriental  fashion  slowly  in 
the  middle  of  the  road,  as  if  time  were  of  no  conse- 
quence. Grave  turbaned  men  saluted  us  as  we  passed 
with  a  courtly  bow  and  smile.  The  Consul  was  evi- 
dently well  known  in  the  Turkish  quarter — "  Salaam 
cffendi    bey — Salaam   aleikum.^^      Elderly   gentlemen, 


CHRISTMASTIDE  153 

sitting  cross-legged  in  open  cafes,  smoking  the  everlast- 
ing cigarette,  or  playing  chess,  looked  up  occasionally 
as  we  passed.  Sellers  of  sherbert  and  boza  perambu- 
lated around  calling  their  wares.  At  every  corner  a 
dealer  in  sweetmeats  had  his  stall.  Jews,  Greeks, 
Albanians,  dervishes  of  the  various  orders,  veiled 
women,  green-turbaned  pilgrims  from  Mecca,  sheiks  and 
other  holy  men  were  everywhere  in  evidence.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  occasional  presence  of  a  Serbian 
gendarme  one  might  easily  have  thought  one  was  still 
under  the  sway  of  the  Turk. 

The  Consul  stopped  suddenly. 

"  It  is  round  here,"  he  said,  pointing  \o  a  mud  wall 
at  the  corner  of  a  side  turning. 

Picking  our  steps  we  came  on  a  low  building  with  a 
curved  iron  grille  along  one  side. 

•'  This  is  the  tomb  of  the  saint  which  the  Raba  wc 
are  going  to  visit  takes  care  of,"  he  said. 

We  looked  in,  and  saw  in  the  light  of  the  candles  a 
tomb,  rather  more  elaborate  than  the  one  wt-  had  just 
left,  surrounded  by  an  iron  railing,  to  which  numerous 
strips  of  paper  were  attached. 

''  These  are  prayers  to  the  saint,  verses  from  the 
Koran  placed  there  by  devotees  desiring  a  cure  for 
some  bodily  ailment,"  explained  the  Consul. 

A  few  steps  further  on  we  came  to  a  little  flagged 
courtyard,  shaded  by  a  plane  tree,  and  having  a  well 
with  a  marble  trough  full  of  water  against  it.  A  low 
verandahed  building  faced  the  well,  and,  as  we  arrived, 
an  acolyte  was  trimming  the  wicks  of  the  hanging  boat- 
shaped  lamps  depending  from  the  verandah,  pre- 
paratory to  sunset. 

"  This  is  the  '  Tekkah,'  a  sort  of  small  monastery  or 
hermitage  where  the  Baba,  the  keeper  of  the  tomb, 
lives  with  his  one  or  two  disciples.  I  wonder  if  the  holy 
man  is  at  home.  He  promised  to  visit  me  some  months 
ago;  but  I  have  not  seen  him  since  T  called  last,"  he 
said. 


154  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

As  he  spoke  we  stepped  on  to  the  bare  wooden 
verandah,  and  the  acolyte  came  forward  to  meet  us. 
To  our  enquiry  he  answered  that  the  holy  man  was 
within ;  and  thereupon  we  began  to  take  off  our  foot- 
gear. The  Consul's  leggings  and  laced  boots  were  easy ; 
but  my  high  rubber  top-boots,  even  with  the  willing 
help  of  the  acolyte,  proved  more  difficult.  Eventually, 
however,  between  us  we  got  them  off ;  and  in  stockinged 
feet  we  proceeded  through  the  small  entry  into  the 
audience  chamber. 

This  was  a  low  square  room,  panelled  in  dark  wood, 
lit  by  small  square  windows  on  three  sides,  the  front 
looking  on  to  the  verandah,  the  others  into  a  little 
garden  behind.  On  the  dark  polished  floor  a  number 
of  sheepskin  rugs  were  scattered ;  and  round  three  sides 
of  the  room  ran  a  low  divan  eight  inches  from  the 
ground,  padded  with  long  cushions  covered  with  blue- 
and-white  checked  cotton. 

Seated  cross-legged  on  the  divan  in  the  far  corner 
was  the  holy  man,  and  to  him  I  was  ceremoniously 
introduced  by  the  Consul  in  the  flowery  manner  of  the 
East.  After  this  we  were  seated.  I  was  placed  cross- 
legged  on  the  Baba's  right  on  the  divan,  the  Consul  on 
his  left,  another  visitor,  who  came  in  after  us,  a  little 
further  off  on  the  Consul's  left. 

When  we  entered  he  was  smoking  a  cigarette.  A 
little  square  brass  brazier  stood  on  the  floor  in  front  of 
him ;  and  from  this  the  acolyte  took  a  live  coal  in  a  pair 
of  quaint  iron  tongs,  and  held  it  up  to  each  of  us  that 
we  might  also  light  our  cigarettes. 

These  preliminaries  settled,  the  Consul  and  the  holy 
man,  evidently  old  friends,  entered  into  a  lively  conver- 
sation, whilst  I  occupied  myself  in  observing  the 
surroundings. 

The  room  itself  pleased  me  immensely.  After  the 
tumbled  untidiness  I  had  lately  got  accustomed  to,  its 
rigid  spotless  monastic  beauty  came  with  an  unexpected 
charm.     The  few  sheepskins  on  the  floor  heightened  the 


CHRISTMASTIDE  155 

polished  beauty  of  it.  The  quaint  diamond  beading  all 
across  the  ceiling  seemed  just  the  appropriate  decorative 
note  suitable  to  the  room.  Even  the  round  dome-like 
sheet-iron  stove  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  its 
angled  stove-pipe,  did  not  look  out  of  place.  The 
absence  of  chairs  and  tables  made  for  an  air  of 
spaciousness. 

But  it  was  chiefly  the  holy  man  himself  that  I  was 
interested  in,  sitting  in  his  dark  robes,  very  eloquent 
with  his  slender  hands,  his  high  dark  aristocratic 
bearded  face  surmounted  by  a  yellow  domed  cap,  round 
which  was  a  brown  turban.  It  was  a  wonderful  digni- 
fied old  face,  calm  with  the  calm  of  certainty,  unruffled 
by  the  swirling  tide  of  events  around  him,  unspotted 
from  the  world.  The  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  a  child, 
trustful,  confident.     It  was  a  strangely  attractive  face. 

Before  our  entry  he  had  evidently  been  writing,  for 
the  implements  of  the  craft  were  round  him,  paper,  a 
stylus,  a  block  of  Indian  ink,  a  shallow  bowl  of  water. 
I  gathered  that  he  had  been  busy  writing  appropriate 
verses  from  the  Koran  on  strips  of  paper,  which  were 
bought,  by  the  seekers  after  health  at  the  saint's  tomb, 
as  charms  against  all  evil.  Apparently  these  were  his 
main  source  of  income,  and  obviously  the  old  man  had 
a  touching  faith  in  their  efficacy.  I  had  been  intro- 
duced to  him  as  the  English  hakim  (doctor),  and  he 
accepted  me  at  once  as  a  brother  healer,  although  of  a 
distinctly  lower  order. 

To  his  courteous  enquiry  as  to  how  I  liked  Uskub,  I 
replied  in  the  time-worn  formula  : — 

''  The  air  is  pure,  the  soil  is  good,  and  the  water  is 
excellent." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  The  soil  is  as 
musk;  but  the  people  who  dwell  there  have  defiled  it 
like  Jerusalem  dogs." 

Whether  he  was  referring  to  the  Serbs  or  not,  it  was 
difficult  to  say.  His  mind  was  so  detached,  it  is  pos- 
sible he  did  not  know  of  their  dominance. 


156  MY  RALKAN  LOO 

Presently  llic  acolyte  ftpproached  him  witli  a  quaint 
old  brown  tray,  on  which  were  four  tiny  cups  and  the 
implements  for  making'  coffee.  From  the  tray  he  took  a 
small  copper  j)ot  full  of  water,  shaped  like  a  double  egg- 
cup  and  having  a  long  handle.  This  he  placed  care- 
fully amid  the  hot  embers  of  the  brazier,  and  proceeded 
to  make  the  coffee,  which  when  ready  he  poured  into 
the  four  tiny  cups. 

As  the  acolyte  brought  them  round  I  watched  the 
Consul.  He  took  his  cup  in  his  right  hand,  after  pre- 
viously touching  his  lips  and  forehead  with  his  fingers 
in  acknowledgment. 

When  it  came  to  my  turn  I  did  the  same. 
The  Consul  smiled  at  me. 

"  You  drink  it  in  one  or  two  gulps,  quickly,  to  show 
how  nuich  you  like  it,"  he  said.  ''  There  must  be  no 
lingering.  That  would  suggest  it  was  not  good,  and 
would  be  impolite." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  excellent,  which  was  rather 
surprising,  as  there  was  practically  no  pure  coffee  in 
Uskub  at  the  time,  the  stuff  sold  as  such  being  com- 
posed mainly  of  burnt  wheat.  After  we  had  gone 
through  the  ceremony  we  fell  into  desultory  talk.  The 
old  man's  conversation  was  an  extraordinary  mixture 
of  fact,  fiction  and  distorted  history.  I  can  remember 
he  told  us  a  long  story  about  "  Iskander  "  (Alexander 
the  Great),  and  '*  Daria  "  (Darius),  evidently  looking 
upon  these  as  former  Mohammedan  saints.  There  was 
another  story  about  Constantine,  the  two  partridges, 
and  the  Bosphorus,  which  I  have  forgotten.  It  was  a 
most  muddled  medley.  Finally  we  got  up  to  leave ; 
and  at  the  last  he  gave  us  his  blessing :  — 

"  I  commend  you  to  God's  keeping.       Come  again 
soon  to  see  me,"  he  said  gently. 
Then  we  started  for  home. 

*'  I  shall  have  to  revise  most  of  my  ideas  about 
dervishes  after  to-day,"  I  said  thoughtfully,  as  we  made 
our  way  over  the  Vardar  bridge. 


CHRISTMASTIDE  157 

The  Consul  smiled. 

**  Most  people  have  to  on  closer  acquaintance.  The 
ordinary  English  idea  is  founded  on  the  Mad  Mullah, 
and  pictures  of  hoards  of  fanatics  sweeping  down  on  a 
square  of  British  troops  in  the  desert." 

Late  that  night,  on  the  Serbian  Christmas  Eve,  the 
Chief  returned  safely  from  Salonika,  bringing  an 
elaborate  supply  of  fresh  rumours  with  him,  rumours 
which  a  knowledge  of  the  place  made  us  more  and  more 
chary  of  accepting. 

Tlie  important  thing  for  us,  lu)Wt'\cr,  was  that  he  liad 
managed  also  to  bring  back  with  him  £800  in  gold, 
wraj){)cd  up  in  his  canteen  tin  ;  and  wc  now  felt  that  we 
shouKl  be  able  to  pay  our  way  should  wc  have  to  trek 
through  Montenegro  or  Albania,  when  we  wanted  to 
return  to  England  in  the  spring,  in  case  the  worst  came, 
and  the  Bulgars  really  did  declare  war  and  cut  us  off 
from  Salonika. 


Next  morning  was  the  Serbian  Christnuis,  ami  very 
early  we  were  made  aware  of  it.  For  it  seemed  to  be 
the  custom  that  everyone  possessing  any  sort  of  gun 
should  let  it  off  as  frequently  as  possible  throughout 
the  day. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  were  wakened  by  salvoes, 
irregular  firings,  solitary  shots  from  every  quarter  at 
rai)idly  recurring  intervals.  There  were  great  quanti- 
ties of  captured  Austrian  rifles  everywhere,  and  masses 
of  amnnmition.  Everyone  seemed  to  have  a  gun, 
everyone  seemed  to  think  he  should  make,  if  possible, 
iiKjrc  noise  than  his  neighbour. 

I  asked  Peter  Petrovitch,  a  friend  of  our  orderlies, 
why  they  did  so.  Peter  had  been  in  America,  and  spoke 
good  United  States  talk  very  fluently.  He  explained 
that  the  Serbian  Christmas  dish  was  roast  sucking  pig, 
and  that  the  moment  the  ])ig  is  put  on  the  fire  to  roast, 


158  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

it  is  the  correct  tiling  to  fire  a  gun.  Every  shot  should 
mean  another  roast  sucking  pig.  We  both  agreed, 
however,  that  there  could  not  be  so  many  thousand 
roast  pigs  in  all  Serbia  as  we  had  heard  reports  in 
Uskub. 

"  I  guess  they're  just  doing  it  for  fun,"  said  Peter. 

There  was  a  fire  burning  in  the  hospital  courtyard,  to 
which  the  Serbian  bolnitchers  at  intervals  supplied  little 
logs  of  oak.  This  fire  they  had  started  on  the  night 
before,  and  it  was  most  important  that  the  oak  logs 
should  never  be  allowed  to  burn  out  before  Christmas 
morn.     This  oak  log  was  called  the  *'  Badnyak." 

"  I  understand  about  the  '  Badnyak  ',"  I  said  to 
Peter.  "  But  what  is  all  this  about  scattering  wheat 
on  it?" 

"  Oh,  wheat !     The  '  Polasnik,'  he  scatters  it." 

"  But  who  is  the  '  Polasnik  '?"  I  said,  rather  more 
puzzled. 

Peter  seemed  surprised  I  did  not  know. 

"  Why  the  '  Polasnik  '  is  the  first  person  to  cross  the 
door  on  Christmas  Day.  He  scatters  wheat  on  the  log — 
the  *  Badnyak  ' — burning  on  the  hearth,  and  then  he 
says : — 

'  Christ  is  born,'  and  the  people  of  the  house  they 
answer  : — '  He  is  born  indeed.'  " 

He  looked  at  me  gravely. 

"  W^hen  you  go  to  the  hospital  to-day,  you  will  be 
*  Polasnik.'  You  will  say  to  the  first  wounded  man  you 
meet :  '  Christ  is  born  ' ;  and  he  will  answer :  '  He  is 
born  indeed.'     It  is  most  important." 

*'  I  see,"  I  answered. 

We  found  it  impossible  to  get  any  work  done  in  the 
hospital  that  day.  Because  it  was  Christmas,  the  bol- 
nitchers and  the  patients  simply  couldn't  understand 
that  we  wished  to  carry  on  as  usual.  Accordingly  we 
did  essential  dressings  only,  leaving  the  others  to  the 
following  day,  when  things  would  have  quieted  down 
again  to  normal. 


CHRISTMASTIDE  159 

The  afternoon  found  us  free,  therefore,  and  as  it  was 
a  beautiful  clear  day,  the  Consul,  Steve  and  I  decided 
to  climb  ••  Gornovaldo,"  the  mountain  at  whose  base 
the  city  of  Uskub  lay. 

Except  for  ourselves  the  mountain  was  almost 
deserted.  Occasional  small  flocks  of  sheep,  led  by  an 
old  ram  with  a  bell  round  his  neck,  ambled  across  our 
track.  Occasionally  a  shepherd  boy  in  his  sheepskin 
coat  and  cap  called  them  shrilly. 

There  were  two  villages  on  the  slo])c,  and  as  we 
drew  near  the  lower  the  skirl  of  bagpipes  came  to 
us   fitfully. 

**  Bagpipes  are  the  national  imisieal  instruments  of 
tlitse  mountaineers,"  said  the  Cunsul.  *'  They're 
having  a  dance  probably." 

Presently  we  came  upon  the  village,  a  miserable  col- 
lection of  mud  hovels  perched  on  wooden  props  against 
the  mountain  side.  A  winding  dirty  lane  led  through 
it,  with  small  maize  stacks  on  either  side,  elevated  on 
wooden  props  to  keep  the  rats  away.  The  sound  of  the 
music  grew  clearer  and  clearer.  Turning  a  corner  we 
came  upon  its  origin,  the  stone  cloister  of  the  village 
church,  where  the  girls  and  boys  of  the  little  hamlet 
were  slowly  dancing  the  '*  Kola,"  swaying  backwards 
and  forwards,  with  hands  on  each  others  shoulders  in  a 
broken  circle,  to  the  music  of  the  pipes.  Tliey  stopped 
shyly  on  our  arrival ;  and  as  the  day  was  waning  we 
did  not  tarry,  but  pushed  on  up  the  winding  track  to 
the  higlicr  more  important  village  of  Gornovaldo,  a 
couple  of  miles  beyond.  A  rickety  wooden  bridge  led 
over  a  ravine  ;  and  here  we  found  a  sentry  posted,  armed 
with  an  old  Martini  rifle,  a  villainous-looking  person 
with  ectropion  of  his  right  eyelid,  a  condition  which  did 
not  improve  his  already  forbidding  countenance.  In 
spite  of  his  appearance,  however,  he  was  a  most  placid 
individual. 

Steve  insisted  on  examining  his  riile,  saying  "  dubra, 
dobra/^   (good,  good,)  his  one  Serbian   word,   to  the 


160  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

man's  great  satisfaction.  Apparently  he  recognised  us, 
for,  as  he  explained  to  the  Consul,  he  had  recently  been 
a  patient  at  the  hospital,  and  we  had  done  him  a  lot  of 
good. 

The  climbing  now  became  stiffer.  We  saw  the  second 
village,  white  houses  against  the  grey,  quite  close;  but 
the  path  wound  serpentine,  and  short  cuts  proved 
breathless  enterprises  to  people  out  of  condition  through 
want  of  exercise  for  months. 

"  In  Turkish  times  the  various  Consuls  used  to  take 
houses  here  during  the  heat  of  summer.  I  have  one  or 
two  friends  we  might  visit,"  said  the  Consul. 

He  led  the  way  through  the  village,  turning  round  to 
the  left,  along  a  path  overlooking  a  space  like  a  quarry 
hole  in  which  were  two  or  three  houses,  whose  red-tiled 
roofs  came  about  level  with  the  path.  One  of  these 
houses  was  our  objective.  The  owner  evidently  saw  us 
before  we  arrived,  and  came  out  to  meet  us,  dressed  in 
the  regulation  Albanian  trousers  and  jacket,  with  a 
small  black  conical  cap  over  a  face,  battered  and 
wrinkled  by  the  sun  and  rain  and  wind  of  fifty 
years. 

With  true  Serbian  politeness,  he  made  us  free  at  once 
of  his  home  and  the  best  that  it  contained.  The  house 
was  built  on  props,  and  was  reached  by  a  rickety  ladder 
leading  to  a  verandah.  It  was  a  single-storied  place, 
built  of  sun-dried  bricks,  and  consisted  of  one  room  with 
a  small  window  in  the  gable,  and  a  door  leading  on  to 
the  verandah.  The  floor  was  of  tramped  clay.  With 
the  exception  of  a  stove  and  two  cradles,  each  with  a 
baby,  there  was  practically  no  furniture  in  the  house. 
As  there  was  nothing  for  us  to  sit  on,  they  produced  a 
roll  of  straw  matting,  and  on  this  we  squatted.  Neigh- 
bours now  began  to  arrive,  each  bringing  a  three-legged 
stool,  and  soon  we  were  in  conversation  with  them,  the 
old  peasant,  a  thin  woman  his  wife,  his  son,  and  a  fat 
snub-nosed  young  woman  who  suckled  a  baby  as  she  sat 
joining  nonchalantly  in  the  talk. 


CHRISTMASTIDE  161 

As  it  was  Christmas  day  we  went  through  the  special 
salutations  once  again;  and  there  was  much  lightning 
crossing  of  the  breast  at  each  mention  of  the  Deity. 
Then  a  large  amphora  of  red  wine  appeared,  and  every- 
one had  to  fill  his  glass.  The  talk  grew  more  and  more. 
The  Consul  was  evidently  telling  them  about  the  great 
war  with  the  Austrians.  Apparently  they  knew  almost 
nothing  about  it.  What  puzzled  them  was  that 
Austria,  which  was  a  Christian  country,  should  be  fight- 
ing them.  Surely  Austria  was  a  friend.  Now,  if  it  had 
been  the  Turk.  They  all  understood  about  the  Turk. 
But  the  Austrians.  That  was  a  puzzle.  And  that  the 
Turks  should  be  with  the  Austrians  more  puzzling  still. 
They  could  not  understand. 

In  the  midst  of  the  talk,  the  thin  woman  re-appeared 
with  a  frying  pan  full  of  little  squares  of  very  salt  roast 
pork.  These  we  picked  out  hot  from  the  pan,  and  ate 
with  our  fingers.  Last  of  all  came  walnuts  ready 
cracked  ;  and  the  feast  was  over.  We  ate  of  everything, 
and  praised  everything ;  the  hospitality  was  so  genuine, 
so  unaffected.  At  length  we  got  up  to  say  farewell, 
wishing  to  get  back  before  dark. 

When  we  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  on  the 
way  down,  the  sun  was  sinking,  and  for  a  moment  we 
paused.  Far  below,  the  broad  triangular  valley  lay 
outspread  between  us  and  the  Black  Mountain,  beyond 
which  the  Bulgar  kept  watch  and  ward.  Across  it  the 
great  river  wound  in  coils,  its  waters  burnished  to  a  dull 
copper  by  the  setting  sun.  From  where  we  stood  the 
red  roofs  of  the  huddled  houses,  the  tall  white  minarets, 
the  rounded  domes  of  the  mosques,  the  great  white  and 
red  battlements  of  the  fortress,  made  the  city  look  more 
like  a  fairy  vision,  so  unsubstantial  did  it  seem,  than 
the  malodorous  reality  we  knew  it  to  be. 

"It  is  like  that  with  every  Eastern  city,"  said  the 
Consul.     "  Romance  is  always  in  the  distance." 

"  Oh  well.  Romance  is  what  happened  yesterday, 
what  is  going  to  happen  to-morrow,   never  what  is 

L 


162  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

happening  to-day.     Romance  is  always  just  round  the 
corner,"  I  answered. 


A  few  days  later  came  news  of  another  impending 
great  Austrian  invasion.  The  shelling  of  Belgrade  had 
recommenced;  and  frontier  fighting  along  the  Danube 
and  the  Save  was  getting  more  frequent.  It  became 
necessary,  therefore,  to  evacuate  as  rapidly  as  possible 
the  hospitals  nearer  the  front;  and,  as  we  were  full,  we 
received  orders  to  send  three  hundred  and  fifty  cases, 
that  could  be  moved,  down  the  line  to  Bitolia  (Monas- 
tir),  so  that  we,  in  turn,  could  take  in  fresh  wounded 
from  the  front. 

Naturally  we  hated  this ;  for  indeed  there  is  nothing 
the  civilian  surgeon  dislikes  so  much,  at  first,  as  the 
constant  military  necessity  which  compels  him  to 
evacuate  his  cases  when  they  are  just  beginning  to  get 
better.  It  is  all  work,  and  nothing  to  show  for  it.  But 
it  is  inevitable. 

We  therefore  set  about  selecting  such  cases  as  we 
thought  suitable.  The  Sanitary  Train  was  due  to 
arrive  on  the  Sunday  evening,  and  all  the  case  sheets 
had  to  be  ready  by  then. 

It  was  on  the  Saturday  afternoon  that  the  Little  Red 
Woman  sprang  her  idea.  She  suggested  to  the  Major 
that  the  Medical  Officer  of  the  Ambulance  Train  would 
have  more  than  he  could  manage ;  and  offered  to  go 
with  Barclay  to  help  to  look  after  our  section  on  the 
way.  The  Major  smiled  paternally.  The  Little  Red 
Woman  was  a  great  favourite  of  his.  His  own 
daughter,  had  she  lived,  would  have  been  about  her  age. 

"  So,''  he  said  chaffingly.  "  You  want  to  look  at  the 
pretty  things  in  the  shops  at  Salonique.  Well,  you 
deserve  a  little  holiday.  If  the  Colonel  agrees,  it  is 
settled." 


CHRISTMASTIDE  163 

Sunday  was  a  beautiful  day,  like  an  early  summer 
morning  in  England ;  and  Sherlock  and  I  wandered 
round  all  the  afternoon  amongst  the  Turkish  graveyards 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  There  were  so  many  of 
them  in  every  quarter,  that  always,  when  I  think  of 
Uskub,  I  have  a  vision  of  graveyards.  Most  of  them 
seemed  to  be  centuries  old,  for  the  graves  were  covered 
with  green,  and  the  headstones  weather-worn  to  illegi- 
bility. No  attempt  at  regularity  was  anywhere 
apparent.  There  were  no  paths,  no  flowers,  no  fences 
around  the  graves,  no  levelling  of  any  kind.  What  one 
saw  was  a  bare  green  hillside,  with  irregular  white  head- 
stones at  every  angle,  projecting  anyhow,  like  broken 
dragons'  teeth  all  over  tiie  surface.  The  tombstone  of 
a  man  was  usually  surmounted  by  a  carved  fez. 
Women  iiad  some  conventional  design  instead.  The 
graveyards  seemed  utterly  neglected.  It  was  no  one's 
business  to  attend  to  them.  Consequently,  when  any- 
one wanted  a  number  of  flag  stones  to  pave  a  courtyard, 
or  make  a  path,  he  took  an  ox-waggon  to  the  nearest 
graveyard,  dug  up  as  many  tombstones  as  he  required, 
and  carted  them  off  without  a  single  by-your-leave  to 
anvone. 


Our  convoy  was  due  to  start  on  Monday  morning,  at 
eleven,  for  Monastir,  and  we  said  good-bye  overnight  to 
those  we  were  loth  to  part  with,  wishing  them  God-speed 
and  a  quick  recovery.  It  should  have  been  a  line  day 
on  Monday ;  but,  of  course,  it  started  to  rain  steadily, 
remorselessly,  as  soon  as  the  first  batch  of  stretchers 
left  the  hospital.  Nevertheless  the  evacuation  pro- 
ceeded methodically,  for  there  is  one  thing  the  Serbian 
staff  can  do  thoroughly,  and  that  is  move  men  quickly, 
handle  musses,  clear  areas.  The  military  machine  is 
thoroughly  efiicient. 

When  we  went  over  to  see  the  train  it  was  already  half 


104  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

filled.  I  looked  into  one  carriage.  It  had  eight  narrow 
bunks  projecting  athwart  the  carriage,  two-thirds 
across.  These  were  occupied  by  lying-down  cases.  All 
along  the  remaining  side  ran  a  long  wooden  bench  on 
which  some  twenty  men,  sitting-up  cases,  with  frac- 
tured arms  and  other  injuries  were  packed  close  to- 
gether.    Steve  and  I  looked  at  them. 

"  Lord.  I'm  glad  I'm  not  going,"  he  said  "  When 
I  think  of  how  tired  I  got  on  the  way  up  after  twelve 
hours  in  a  comfortable  railway  carriage,  quite  fit  and 
well,  and  remember  that  these  poor  devils  will  have  to 
sit  close  packed  for  twenty-four  hours — .  The  Serb 
peasant  is  a  marvel." 

Moving  on,  we  found  a  group  assembled  round  the 
Little  Red  Woman,  wrapped  up  warmly  for  the  journey, 
all  smiles  and  dimples  at  the  thought  of  the  holiday  she 
was  about  to  have — the  first  real  one  since  the  war 
started  five  months  before. 

With  her  were  Barclay,  Lieutenant  Joritch  our 
adjutant,  and  Lieut. -Colonel  Marketitch  the  P.M.O.  of 
the  train.  After  we  had  been  introduced,  the  Colonel 
brought  us  round  to  his  quarters  in  the  train.  Here  we 
found  two  ladies,  the  Colonel's  wife,  once  a  well-known 
beauty,  and  a  large  person  with  a  very  opulent  figure, 
a  Russian  lady  doctor  from  Kraguievatz,  wearing  a  very 
beautifully  tight-fitting  tailor-made  costume  of  Austrian 
grey,  which  I  caught  the  Little  Red  Woman  studying 
surreptitiously.  The  lady  was  very  much  at  home, 
obviously  very  proud  of  her  figure,  and  was  seated  in 
such  a  way  as  to  display  a  generous  expanse  of  leg 
encased  in  brilliant  canary  yellow  stockings,  finished 
off  by  very  high-heeled  French  patent  leather  shoes — 
truly  an  extraordinary  exotic  bird  in  such  surround- 
ings. Knowing  our  Little  Red  Woman,  I  could  see  she 
was  already  bristling  like  a  terrier  in  the  presence  of  a 
strange  cat ;  but  the  big  woman  was  totally  unconscious 
of  the  effect  she  was  producing,  and  greeted  her  effu- 
sively as  a  fellow  country-woman. 


CHRLSTMASTIDE  165 

'•What  do  you  think  of  my  costume?"  she  said 
presently. 

"  It  is  very  chic,"  replied  the  Little  Red  Woman 
shortly ;  and  then,  her  curiosity  requiring  to  be 
satisfied,  she  added :  **  But  Nvhere  did  you  get  the 
material  ?" 

'*  Oh,"  she  replied  airily,  ■"  I  commandeered  the  over- 
coats of  three  Austrian  prisoners,  and  had  it  made  up  by 
a  tailor  in  Belgrade." 

''  You  took  the  winter  overcoats  of  three  prisoners  !  " 
gasped  the  Little  Red  Woman,  horrified. 

"  Yes.  The  dirty  '  Schwabski,'  I  did,"  she  answered 
defiantly.  Then  the  Little  Red  Woman  turned  her 
back  on  her  deliberately,  and  we  knew  it  was  war  to  the 
knife. 

Barclay  and  I  grinned  at  one  another  sheepishly. 

"  Hope  you'll  all  have  a  good  time,"  I  said  cheer- 
fully. 

"  Hope  springs  eternal  in  tlie  luiinun  breast,"  he 
murmured. 


We  felt  rather  lonely  without  them  in  the  hospital 
that  morning,  but  by  the  afternoon  we  had  recovered, 
for  Steve,  who  had  previously  bought  a  Zeiss  binocular 
for  two  pounds,  was  now  negotiating  for  a  Mannliehcr 
which  James  had  discovered,  and  it  was  like  a  comedy 
to  watch  the  bargaining. 

The  putative  owner  was  a  Serbian  bandit,  one  of  a 
corps  of  komitadgi  raised  to  harry  the  Bulgarian 
frontier.  He  was  a  most  villainous-looking  ruffian,  with 
a  large  bulbous  plum-coloured  nose,  the  result  of  a 
gunshot  wound  of  the  face  which  had  somehow  caused 
obstruction  to  the  venous  return.  He  wanted  eighty 
dinars,  rather  less  than  three  pounds,  for  the  rifle  and 
three  hundred  rounds  of  ammunition.  How  he 
obtained  it  we  did  not  ask.     Obviously,  if  it  belonged 


ICO  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

to  anyone,  it  was  the  property  of  the  Serbian  govern- 
ment. But  it  was  a  beauty,  and  Steve,  who  had  an 
absolute  mania  for  colleeting  firearms,  was  very 
tempted. 

Stretton  and  I,  after  trying  the  gun  and  finding  it 
perfect,  left  them  haggling,  and  went  off  to  operate. 

It  was  a  long  tiring  afternoon.  We  were  in  the 
theatre  for  over  five  hours,  and  when  we  had  finished  it 
was  nearly  dinner-time.  Barclay  and  the  Little  Red 
Woman,  we  knew,  were  now  about  half  way  to 
Salonika ;  Steve,  we  found,  had  gone  to  bed  with  a 
severe  attack  of  neuralgia,  and  the  mess  would  be  very 
small  and  quiet  in  consequence. 

Suddenly  Stretton  and  I  felt  that  we  could  not 
possibly  endure  dining  at  home  that  evening. 

"  I'm  chock  full  of  chloroform,  hanging  over  those 
rotten  septic  cases  of  yours,"  he  said  querulously. 

"  I'm  afraid  Charlie  is  going  to  perpetrate  roast  lamb 
for  the  fifth  time  in  succession,"  I  answered  peevishly. 
Then  I  had  an  inspiration.  "  Let's  go  to  the 
Drinoski,  and  see  the  pictures,"  I  said. 

"  Done,"  said  Stretton  with  sudden  alacrity. 

None  of  us  had  ever  been  to  the  *'  Drinoski  " ;  but  we 
knew  it  was  the  centre  of  fashion  in  Uskub.  We  had 
heard  of  it  from  the  Paget  Unit,  many  of  whom  often 
dined  there.  To  it  came  nightly  the  elite  of  the  city, 
the  staff  oflficers,  high  officials  and  their  wives,  to  sip 
their  wine  after  dinner,  listen  to  the  Tzigane  orchestra 
and  watch  the  cinema.  When  we  came  to  think  of  it, 
we  felt  it  was  odd  we  had  never  yet  been. 

It  was  a  temporary  wooden  structure,  on  a  flat  piece 
of  ground  on  the  far  side  of  the  Vardar  bridge,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Citadel.  When  we  got  there  a  bright 
light  was  burning  outside  the  entrance,  and  in  the  box- 
office  we  found  the  "  Magaziner  "  of  our  hospital — an 
official  corresponding  to  the  Quartermaster  of  an 
English  military  unit.  He  greeted  us  cheerfully;  and 
then  we  found  to  our  surprise  he  was  the  proprietor. 


CHRISTMASTIDE  167 

Running  the  stores  of  our  hospital  was  apparently  only 
his  '*  war  work,"  for  he  was  said  to  be  one  of  the 
wealthiest  men  in  Uskub. 

The  restaurant  itself  was  a  long,  single-storied  build- 
ing, decorated  in  white  and  gold,  lit  by  electric  light. 
Little  tables,  covered  with  white  napery,  were  arranged 
in  lung  parallel  rows.  There  was  a  musicians*  gallery 
over  the  entrance,  in  which  the  gipsy  orchestra  and 
cinema  operator  were  placed.  A  white  screen  covered 
the  far  wall. 

The  room  was  full  of  gold-laced  officers,  Serbian 
ladies,  and  well-to-do  civilians.  It  was  an  ordinary, 
very  ordinary  restaurant  of  the  Austrian  bier  hallo 
type ;  but  after  our  Spartan  existence  it  seemed  magni- 
ficent to  us.  We  both  gaspt-d.  \NC  liad  no  idea  Uskub 
could  rise  to  such  luxuries. 

"  Why,  they've  got  decent  tablecloths,  and  actually 
table-napkins.  Haven't  seen  a  napkin  for  int)nths," 
said  Stretton. 

Of  course  ever>'one  knew  us,  as  we  threaded  our  way 
looking  for  a  table.  We  saw  our  Serbian  Colonel,  the 
General,  some  of  his  staff,  a  few  men  from  the  Russian 
and  Italian  consulates.  Mingkil  with  these  were  a  good 
many  civilians,  and  several  Serbian  N.C.O.'s  and 
privates,  for  Serbia  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  truly  demo- 
cratic country.  We  even  saw  one  of  our  bolnitchers 
taking  a  sestra  out  for  the  evening  on  the  strength  of 
tips  he  had  made  in  the  hospital. 

Two  men  in  khaki  from  the  Paget  Unit  hailed  us,  and 
we  joined  them  at  their  table.  To  have  a  real  menu 
presented  to  us,  have  a  real  waiter  hanging  round,  a 
real  wine  steward  indicating  what  vintages  he  recom- 
mended, seemed  almost  like  a  dream.  It  did  not 
matter  that  the  menu  was  printed  in  Serbian,  which  we 
could  not  read.  It  did  not  matter  that  the  wines  pro- 
bably had  never  seen  France.  The  warmth,  the  light, 
the  laughter,  the  music,  the  civilising  effect  of  snowy 
linen,  burnished  silver,  was  more  than  enough  to  cheer 


168  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

our  flagging  spirits.     We  thoroughly  enjoyed  ourselves. 

When  nine  o'clock  came  the  tables  were  cleared,  and 
those  who  did  not  wish  to  see  the  cinema  departed. 
The  lights  were  lowered,  and  the  pictures  commenced. 
It  was  a  curious  show.  All  the  pictures  were  German. 
The  stories  were  of  the  most  sugary  sentimental  German 
type.  Even  the  descriptive  explanations  were  in 
German.  The  Serb  audience  sat  through  it  all  quietly. 
The  orchestra  in  the  background  played  queer  melan- 
choly Slav  music.     Everyone  was  very  still. 

At  the  end  came  the  solemn  Russian  National 
Anthem,  and  everyone  stood  rigid  to  attention.  It 
stopped.  A  few  ])ars  followed,  and  then  there  was  a 
stir  amongst  the  audience.  Eyes  glistened,  cheeks 
flushed,  hearts  began  to  beat  exultantly.  It  was  the 
Serbian  Hymn.  The  wave  of  emotion  swept  over  and 
enveloped  us  also,  for  were  we  not  with  them  in  their 
wonderful  struggle. 

The  music  ceased,  and  with  it  the  tension  suddenly 
relaxed.  People  shook  themselves  as  if  after  a  dream, 
moved,  smiled  at  their  neighbours,  prepared  to  go. 
Chatter  broke  out  again. 

We  moved  in  a  body  towards  the  door.  A  whisper 
and  a  nod  came  from  one  of  the  Serbian  staff ;  and  quite 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly  the  orchestra  broke  out 
again.  At  the  first  bar,  automatically,  we  stopped 
rigid.  The  chatter  had  ceased.  Everyone  was  looking 
at  us  with  friendly  eyes.  The  band  was  playing  "  God 
save  the  King." 

It  was  months  since  we  had  heard  it.  We  were  all 
taken  by  surprise.  Emotions  were  very  near  the  sur- 
face, you  will  remember,  in  those  days,  and  I  felt  a  lump 
rising  in  my  throat,  a  queer  moisture  in  my  eyes.  As 
it  chanced  there  were  some  eight  or  ten  of  us  close  to- 
gether near  the  exit ;  and  suddenly  behind  me  one  of 
the  Paget  orderlies,  a  Cambridge  undergrad.,  began  to 
sing  in  a  clear  tenor  voice.  Quickly  we  all  joined  in. 
The  people  around  stood  watching  us.      They  did  not 


CHRISTMASTIDE  109 

understand  a  word;  but  they  made  us  feel  tluy  were 
with  us. 

Then  we  marched  out  in  a  body,  salutinp  the  General, 
everyone  answering  our  salute,  rigid  as  we  passed. 

"  I'm  glad  we  went.  It  has  been  a  splendid  night," 
said  Stretton,  as  we  went  back  in  the  darkness  through 
the  mud  to  our  quarters  on  tlu-  other  side  i)f  tlu-  Vurdar. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
GATHERING  SHADOWS 

A  proclamation  to  the  Macedonians — A  nij^ht  stroll  and  some  curious 
happenings — The  mystery  of  the  wounded  Turk — Monastir  and  its 
hospitals — The  grim  reason  why  we  ga%'e  up  operating  on 
Hungarians — The  "  Blessing  of  the  Waters  " — An  unexpectedly 
successful  operation — What  happened  to  the  lost  case — Stretton 
gets  relapsing  fever — A  Royal  visit  and  its  sequel — How  the 
*'  Sergeant  "  tried  to  fight  a  duel — More  trouble  with  the  Little 
Red  Woman — Stretton  goes  home. 

THE  First  of  January  (old  style)  marked  a  new 
political  era  in  Southern  Serbia.  On  that 
date  a  grandiloquent  announcement  appeared 
in  all  the  papers,  stating  that  now  the  yoke  of  the  Turk 
had  been  lifted  permanently  from  the  shoulders  of  the 
Macedonian  Serbs,  and  they  had  been  recovered  into 
the  historical  fold  of  the  race,  the  King,  touched  by 
their  loyalty,  desired  no  longer  to  look  upon  them  as  a 
conquered  province,  but  as  an  integral  part  of  Serbia 
Magna.  In  consequence  of  this,  and  on  the  advice  of 
his  ministers  and  Parliament,  he  therefore  promulgated 
a  decree,  and  desired  that  it  should  be  carried  and  pro- 
nounced throughout  all  the  land  of  Southern  Serbia, 
that,  from  that  day  forthwith,  the  inhabitants  thereof 
should  be  accorded  all  the  rights  and  privileges  of 
Serbian  citizenship,  with  powers  to  elect  representatives 
to  the  national  Skupshtina,  to  ensure  that  their  own 
particular  interests  should  be  adequately  protected. 

To  celebrate  the  occasion,  national  rejoicings  were 
ordered ;  flags  flew  from  all  the  official  buildings ;  and 
the  city  was  to  be  illuminated  at  night. 

Accordingly,  after  dinner,  Steve  and  I  sallied  out  to 

170 


GATHERING  SHADOWS  171 

see  the  iUuniLnations.  The  main  street  from  the 
station  to  the  bridge  was  dead.  A  number  of  kerosene 
lamps  arranged  along  the  river  front  and  on  the  bridge, 
half  of  them  blown  out  by  the  wind,  burnt  feebly.  A 
few  people  wandered  round  aimlessly.  There  did  not 
seem  to  be  any  wild  enthusiasm  about.  We  were 
puzzled. 

""  Let's  look  up  Marko,  the  sentry,"  I  said. 

We  advanced  cautiously. 

*'iSf«ni/     Ko,  /fitS"  came  the  challenge. 

^'  Preyatt'Ji,--  we  answered,  as  we  saw  him  coming 
from  the  sentry-box  on  our  side  of  the  bridge. 

"'  Good  evening,  misters,"  he  said. 

"Evening,  Marko,"  said  Steve.  "Say,  I  have  a 
hunch  we've  missed  the  big-drum  stunt.  When  does 
the  circus  commence  ?" 

Marko  smiled  grimly. 

"  Believe  me,"  he  said,  "  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  no 
circus  this  trip,  boss." 

We  were  all  standing  at  case  near  the  corner  of  the 
bridge.  No  one  was  about,  and  Marko  seemed  in  a 
conversational  mood.  A  slight  sound  made  him  turn. 
A  solitary  Turk  was  coming  (luietly  over  the  incline  of 
the  arches ;  and  at  the  sight  of  him,  all  the  good  humour 
fled  from  Marko's  face. 

Without  a  word  to  us  he  was  round  in  a  flash,  and 
had  made  for  the  Turk.  There  was  a  sharp  rapid  inter- 
change of  words,  a  quick  jerk  on  Marko's  part,  a  rapid 
retreat  on  that  of  the  Turk,  and  presently  the  sentry 
was  back  again,  smiling,  with  something  in  his  hand. 
It  was  a  wicked-looking  curved  dagger  with  a  mother  of 
pearl  handle. 

"  That  makes  twenty-three  to-night,"  he  said. 
"  Orders  are  to  disarm  all  Turks." 

"Why?"  I  said. 

"  Orders,"  he  answered. 

The  night  was  young,  and  we  felt  disinclined  to 
return ;  so  presently  we  strolled  over  the  bridge  to  the 


172  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Turkish  side  The  lamps  placed  along  the  river 
frontage  threw  pale  wavering  streaks  on  the  leaden 
gurgling  water.  High  up  on  the  left  the  lights  of  the 
Citadel  twinkled  feebly.  A  few  street  lamps  at  long 
intervals  east  pale  circles  on  the  uneven  cobbles.  No 
one  seemed  to  be  about ;  but  behind  the  dark  blinds  of 
several  cafes  we  could  hear  the  sound  of  stringed  music. 
Suddenly  from  one  of  these,  three  men  tumbled 
hurriedly  into  the  street,  followed  by  a  pathway  of  light 
from  the  open  door.  The  sound  of  a  revolver  shot  fol- 
lowed. The  men  seemed  to  melt  away  ;  but  from  some- 
where near  a  blue  gendarme  equally  suddenly  sprang 
into  life.  It  was  like  a  shadow  picture  to  us.  We  could 
see  the  outline  of  his  peaked  cap,  his  short  nose,  his  up- 
turned chin,  the  curve  of  his  neck,  sharply  silhouetted 
against  the  light.  We  saw  his  arm  go  up  and  then  there 
came  three  reports  in  quick  succession,  and  the  door 
banged  to  again. 

"  That  was  a  Colt  automatic.  Guess  I'd  know  the 
bark  of  it  anywhere,"  said  Steve  excitedly. 

"  He  didn't  waste  much  time  making  up  his  mind," 
I  said. 

"  Huh,"  said  Steve.  "  It's  always  a  good  rule  to  get 
a  '  bead  '  on  the  other  fellow  first.  It's  better  for  your 
Insurance  Company.  Wonder  what  in  Hades  the  racket 
was  all  about." 

"  I  don't  mind  betting  you'll  never  hear,"  I  said. 
W^e  didn't. 

Next  day,  however,  just  before  lunch,  a  well-to-do 
Turk  came  staggering  into  hospital,  helped  by  his 
friends,  his  right  hand,  wrapped  in  a  handkerchief, 
dripping  blood  all  the  way  up  the  stairs. 

Taking  the  improvised  dressing  off,  I  had  a  look  at 
the  hand,  to  find  that  only  the  thumb  and  half  the 
palm  was  left,  the  four  fingers  and  rest  of  the  palm 
having  been  torn  off,  leaving  a  horrible  bleeding  stump 
of  projecting  bones,  torn  flesh  and  strings  of  tendon. 
I  asked  no  questions.     A  surgeon,  especially  when  he  is 


GATHERING  SH.\DOWS  178 

busy,  IS  not  a  curious  person.  But  the  man's  friends 
volunteered  the  information  that  it  had  happened  that 
morning.  They  said  tliat  he  had  been  putting  wood 
into  his  stove,  and  somehow  or  other  an  explosion  had 
occurred,  and  this  was  the  result. 

I  made  no  comment  on  the  story,  but  after  dressing 
the  wound,  told  the  man,  if  he  came  back  in  the  after- 
noon at  three  o'clock,  I  would  give  him  chloroform  and 
fix  the  thing  properly.  All  the  while  the  patient  said 
nothing.  Now  he  merely  nodded  assent  ;  smiled 
gravely  at  me,  and  they  led  him  away. 

But  he  did  not  turn  up  that  afternoon. 

\Vhen  I  asked  the  Major,  next  day,  if  he  knew  any- 
thing of  him,  he  answered  smoothly  : 

'*  Oh,  yes.  He  was  detained  by  the  military  authori- 
ties as  he  left  the  hospital,  and  asked  to  account  for 
the  bomb.  When  the  examination  is  complete,  he  will, 
no  doubt,  return  to  you  for  further  treatment." 

But  he  never  did  rrturn.  I  made  no  more  enquiries. 
I  had  a  feeling  that  further  questions  would  !)e  unwel- 
come.    I  rather  fancy  he  was  shot  that  afternoon. 

It  was,  of  course,  as  the  mining  engineer's  predictions 
suggested  to  me,  prol)ably  only  an  episo<le  of  the  general 
unrest  following  the  proclamation.  Serbia  was  in 
deadly  need  of  fresh  recruits  for  her  woefully  depleted 
army,  but  these  Macedonians  were  not  willing  con- 
scripts, many  of  them  being  pro-Turk  or  pro-Bulgar  in 
their  sympathies,  many  more  simply  hating  the  thought 
of  being  "  called  up,"  most  of  them  not  at  all  eager  to 
fight  for  anyone. 


The  absence  of  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  cases  that 
Barclay  and  the  Little  Red  Woman  were  accompanying 
to  Monastir  made  our  work  for  the  following  week  con- 
siderably easier.  The  fact  that  fresh  cases  were  not 
arriving  in  any  quantity  gave  us  time  to  consider  more 


174  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

carefully  the  treatment  of  those  we  had.  James,  the 
invaluable,  our  Austrian  interpreter,  had  got  his  bol- 
nitcluTs  into  something'  like  working  order.  The  beds 
had  been  numbered,  and  we  could  put  our  hands  on 
any  case  required.  A  special  area  of  sixty  beds  had 
been  reserved  for  fresh  ojjcration  cases,  so  that  it  was  no 
longer  possible  to  lose  sight  of  a  patient  amongst  our 
fifteen  hundred  odd.  Altogether  we  were  much  happier 
in  our  arrangements.  We  were  able  now  to  do  a  morn- 
ing round  of  the  operation  cases,  and  dress  them  in  bed, 
leaving  the  orderlies  to  carry  on  until  we  had  linished. 
Several  of  the  Serbian  sestras  too,  had  by  this  time 
acquired  quite  an  intelligent  usefulness  ;  one  of  them 
in  particular  took  it  uj)on  herself  to  look  after  my  cases 
especially.  To  her  I  was  the  "  Velik  gospodin  doktor.^^ 
She  informed  me  her  name  was  "  Sestra  Pava." 

At  first,  any  sestra  who  happened  to  be  handy 
used  to  come  along  with  mc,  when  I  started  my  round ; 
but  after  she  had  adopted  me  they  were  given  to  under- 
stand their  j)resence  was  no  longer  required.  I  was  her 
property,  and  they  might  just  as  well  recognise  the  fact, 
once  and  for  all.  This  suited  me  admirably.  I  found 
her  extremely  useful.  Nothing  was  too  much  trouble, 
nothing  was  a  bother  to  her. 

She  was  a  dimpled,  pink-checked  little  woman,  with  a 
quick  bustling  manner,  and  very  bad  teeth.  She  looked 
quite  pretty  until  she  smiled.  This  worried  me  at  first 
until  I  had  an  inspiration  :  I  extracted  all  the  bad  ones, 
and  taught  her  to  smile  without  showing  those  that  were 
left. 

Every  day  we  used  to  go  round,  she  carr\-Lng  my  tray 
of  dressings.  Voluble  conversations  took  place  between 
her  and  the  patients.  The  substance  of  these  she  com- 
municated to  me  by  a  special  combination  of  bad 
German,  good  Serbian,  and  excellent  pantomime,  which 
she  considered  the  easiest  method  of  reaching  my  intelli- 
gence. A  certain  amount  of  this  information  used  to 
penetrate.     Between  what  I  knew  I  had  done  for  the 


GATIIERINC;  SHADOWS  175 

patient,  what  I  saw  when  1  looked  at  his  wounds,  and 
what  she  tried  to  tell  me  about  him,  we  got  on  quite 
Nutisfactorilv. 


Meanwhile  Sister  Howntree,  wlio  had  laen  lent  to  us 
liy  the  Paget  Unit,  had  gruilually  Ingun  to  feel  that  she 
would  like  to  come  more  frequently,  {K'rhaps  even  per- 
manently. There  was  talk  of  the  Paget  I'nit  hreaking 
up.  liulf  uf  them  had  signed  on  fur  three  months  only, 
and  their  time  was  almost  ovtr.  It  was  doubtful  if 
the  whole  unit  would  not  return,  for  lighting  appeared 
to  Ik.*  over  for  the  tune,  and  it  was  unlikely  the 
Austrians,  fully  occupied  by  the  Russian  advance  in 
Calicia,  would  attempt  another  invasion  of  Serbia  Ix'fore 
the  autumn.  That  meant,  of  course,  that  less  and  less 
new  surgical  work  would  lind  its  way  to  L'skub,  and 
what  casts  they  had  at  tlieir  hospital  would  soon  l>e 
exhausted.  We,  on  the  other  haml,  with  (»(KJ  surgical 
be<ls  had  work  and  to  sj)are  In-fore  us  for  three  months  ; 
md,  as  long  as  we  kept  our  health,  and  escaped  an 
epidemic  in  our  dirty  unsanitary  buiUlings,  were  happy 
and  contented.  The  surgical  material  was  splendid. 
We  were  operating  every  day  ;  and  we  found  the  sister 
al>solutely  invaluable.  Naturally  we  wanted  to  keep 
her,  if  she  could  be  spared,  for  a  surgeon  without  a 
capable  theatre  nurse  is  like  a  one-armed  man.  Luekily 
she  wanted  to  stay  with  us,  feeling  how  utterly  dci)en- 
dent  we  were  on  her. 

And  so  it  was  arranged  that  she  should  <..riir  to  us 
daily. 

It  was  at  this  stage  that  Stretton  developed  a  .second 
attack  of  Relapsing  Fever,  after  he  had  recovered  com- 
I)letely  from  the  lirst. 

It  came  with  characteristic  suddenness.  He  was 
(luite  well  and  at  work  until  tea-time.  Ry  eight  o'elock 
he  was  lying  delirious  with  a  temperature  of  lOlF. 

1  told  Charlie,  our  fat  Maltese  cook,  to  make  some 


176  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

IJenger's  Food,   sending  a  tin   with  directions  to  the 
kitchen  by  Anthony. 

When  I  went,  an  hour  later,  wrathfully  to  find  out 
why  it  had  nut  arrived,  I  found  him  looking  woefully 
at  an  unpalatable  lumpy  mess  which  would  have  made 
a  nuile  sick.  IJen^'cr's  Food  is  a  difficult  thing  to  make, 
even  when  following  the  directions  carefully.  Charlie 
had  been  trying  to  make  it  by  the  light  of  nature,  not 
being  able  to  read  a  word  of  English.  Ilinc  iliac 
lacrimir. 

Next  day  the  patient  was  better;  and,  to  our  great 
joy,  at  night  our  wanderers  returned  from  Monastir, 
bringing  some  very  acceptable  stores  with  them.  I 
remember  in  particular  twenty-four  pots  of  jam,  cheap 
stuff  one  would  not  have  looked  at  in  England,  but  to 
us  veritable  ambrosia.  Living  mainly  on  a  meat  and 
black  bread  ration,  we  were  as  greedy  as  children  over 
that  jam.  Another  thing  they  brought  was  table 
napkins.  These  made  us  feel  quite  civilised ;  and, 
when  we  discovered  they  were  a  present  from  the 
"  Little  Woman  "  to  the  mess,  wc  insisted  on  toasting 
her,  to  her  dimpled  embarrassed  pleasure. 

Sitting  round  the  wood  fire  after  dinner,  we  called 
upon  them  to  tell  us  their  adventures. 

"  We  got  to  Salonique  soon  after  midnight,"  said 
Barclay.  "  That  was  because  we  did  not  want  our 
wounded  to  be  seen  any  more  than  was  necessarj'.  We 
left  again  in  half  an  hour  for  Monastir.  It  seems  to  be 
a  climb  most  of  the  way,  as  we  had  two  engines,  and  the 
train  had  to  be  divided  several  times  at  steep  gradients. 
It  is  a  wonderful  mountainous  countrv'  with  lakes,  like 
the  Highlands  of  Scotland.  W^e  arrived  at  Monastir 
in  a  snow  storm  ;  and  there  was  nothing  but  ox-waggons 
to  carry  away  the  wounded.  At  the  station  there  was 
a  solitary  fiacre,  which  we  commandeered.  Afterwards 
we  found  it  had  been  sent  for  some  high  Serbian 
dignitary. 

''  The  only  decent  hotel  is  the  '  Bosnia,'  and  as  we  had 


GATHEUINC;  SHADOWS  177 

been  living  on  salami,  cheese,  and  wine  for  the  greater 
part  of  two  days,  the  first  thing  I  asked  for  was  a  decent 
hot  meal." 

•*  He  was  most  cross  until  he  ^ot  it,"  said  the  Little 
Red  Woman. 

Barclay  smiled.  **  I  daresay  I  was.  At  any  rate  I 
was  happier  afterwards,  and  quite  enjoyed  sittinj;  out 
on  the  balcony  watching  the  (Jreek  priests  drinking 
liqueurs.  It  was  then  we  saw  our  wounded  passing  in 
ox-waggons,  the  arm  cases  sitting  up,  the  bad  ones 
lying  111  the  straw     all  looking  misrrable. 

**  Nevertheless  st>me  of  them  saw  us,  and  waved, 
smiling  as  they  passrd.  It  made  me  feel  ashamed  of  my 
pre  V  HI  us  bad  temper." 

*•  What  were  the  hospitals  like  .'"  I  said. 

*'  There  were  three  of  them — two  IJrcek  and  a 
Serbian.  We  went  to  them  all.  The  Serbian  hospital 
was  the  old  Turkish  military  one.  It  had  been  built 
ju.st  Ixrfore  the  first  Balkan  war,  and  had  never  been 
occupied  until  now.     It  *  '  rn-  white  wards 

with  white  cots,  and  a       ,  ,       ^ting  bloek,  witli 

anirsthetie  room,  theatre  and  observation  wards  all 
c«jmplrte.  We  thought  it  splendid  until  we  went  along 
the  ctjrndors.  They  smelt  like  stables-  no  sanitary 
arrangements. 

*'  The  Commandant  was  very  proud  of  his  hospital. 
He  to(ik  us  into  one  room  and  showed  us  a  number  of 
j)acking  cases,  half  opened." 

*'  What  are  they  ?"  said  I)r  Kadish. 

"  X-ray  outfit,"  he  told  us  proudly. 

"  But  why  are  they  not  in  use  r"  she  said,  surprised. 

"  Oh,  Madam  !  They  are  too  costly  to  experiment 
with.  We  do  not  understand  them,"  he  said  witii  a 
shrug. 

**  It  made  me  just  ache  to  think  of  it.  All  that  beau- 
tiful material,  which  we  would  have  given  our  eyes  to 
liave  had,  still  in  the  original  packing  cases,  not  being 
used  by  anyone,  and  us  pining  for  it  every  day. 

M 


178  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

"  Next  morning  we  started  back  for  Salonique.  We 
had  two  days  there  as  you  know.  We've  spent  all  our 
money.     And  now  I'm  just  dying  to  go  to  bed." 

Next  day  I  examined  a  Magyar  (Hungarian)  prisoner. 
I  had  to  do  so,  much  as  a  veterinary  surgeon  would,  for 
he  seemed  almost  incapable  of  making  himself  under- 
stood. We  had  only  one  bolnitcher,  a  Roumanian 
Serb,  who  could  speak  Hungarian ;  for  even  James,  our 
polyglot  Austrian  interpreter,  had  never  attempted  this 
difficult  language.  I  asked  questions  of  James  in 
English.  These  were  translated  by  him  into  Serbian. 
The  bolnitcher  turned  them  into  Hungarian.  And  so 
the  man  was  interrogated.  But  to  all  my  queries  he 
was  apathetically  dumb.  The  bolnitcher  could  make 
nothing  of  him.  It  was  impossible,  therefore,  to  make 
out  how  the  condition  had  arisen.  All  I  knew  was  that 
lie  had  a  huge  abdominal  dropsy,  and  it  was  getting 
steadily  worse. 

I  told  the  bolnitcher  to  tell  him  that  I  proposed 
operating.  He  neither  consented  nor  refused.  When  I 
tapped  him  I  drew  off  fifteen  pints  of  fluid.  Even  then 
I  could  find  no  obvious  cause  for  the  accumulation.  In 
a  few  days  I  tried  to  question  him  again ;  but  he  was  as 
unresponsive  as  ever.  Obviously  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  die.  His  spirit,  I  think,  was  utterly  broken. 
He  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  hated  by  the  Serbs, 
hated  even  by  the  Roumanians  and  Austrians,  his  fellow 
countrymen,  who  could  not  understand  his  language. 
He  died  quite  quietly,  a  week  later. 

When  I  said  to  the  Little  Red  Womian  I  wished  that  I 
had  done  a  "Talma-Morrison"  on  him,  she  answered  :  — 

"  What  would  have  been  the  good  ?  He  would  have 
died  in  any  case.  All  the  Magj^ars  we  operate  on  die. 
They've  been  half  starved  until  they  have  no  resistance 
left  before  we  see  them.  Then  when  we  do  operate,  and 
they  cannot  feed  themselves,  they  die.  No  Serb  will 
feed  them." 


GATHERING  SHADOWS  179 

*'  Good  God  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  I  remember  now  being 
told  so  before.     But  why  ?" 

"  What  would  you  ?"  she  said.  "  They  are  credited 
with  all  the  awful  atrocities  committed  on  Serb  women 
in  the  Valievo  district  last  September,  and  even  the 
Czechs  with  them  will  not  associate.  I  know  it  is 
awful ;  but  I  cannot  any  righteous  indignation  over 
them  get  up." 

"  And  so  they  die,"  I  said. 

*'  Yes,"  she  answered  shortly. 

After  that  I  operated  on  no  more  Hungarians,  unless 
they  asked  me  to  do  so,  and  I  could  make  sure  they 
would  be  able  to  feed  themselves  afterwards. 


Two  days  after  the  return  from  Monastir  came 
Epiphany  morn,  which  in  countries  under  the  Orthodox 
Church  is  almost  as  important  as  Christmas.  On  that 
day  the  ceremony  of  "  The  Blessing  of  the  Waters  " 
takes  place;  and  on  the  night  before,  a  stand  was 
erected  for  the  annual  ceremony  on  the  eastern  side  of 
the  Vardar,  close  to  the  bridge. 

All  morning,  from  eight  o'clock  onwards,  guns 
boomed  in  salvoes  of  three  from  the  saluting  battery  in 
the  Citadel ;  and  people  started  to  collect  along  the  river 
bank  to  see  the  proceedings.  About  nine  o'clock  two 
long  processions  began  to  converge  on  the  scene  of  the 
ceremony.  The  Archbishop  from  the  Cathedral  headed 
one,  the  Metropolitan  from  the  Church  of  St.  Demetrius 
the  other. 

All  the  priests  were  in  full  canonicals,  very  gorgeous ; 
and  every  one  in  the  procession  held  lighted  tapers,  the 
priests  carrying  banners,  swinging  censers,  chanting 
solemn  hymns  as  they  marched.  Detachments  of  troops 
held  the  streets  clear.  Every  one  from  the  General 
Officer  Commanding  to  the  most  humble  official  was 
present. 


180  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

The  supreme  moment  came  when  the  Archbishop, 
mounting  the  grand-stand,  raised  a  great  silver-gilt 
crucifix  over  his  head,  and  cast  it  into  the  river. 

Immediately  it  touched  the  water,  a  number  of  men 
and  boys,  ready  waiting,  dived  after  it,  and  brought  it 
back  in  triumph  to  the  stand  again.  Then  the  Arch- 
bishop took  it  once  more ;  and  now  he  dipped  it  into  a 
huge  tank  of  water  which  stood  before  him,  thus  making 
the  water  holy. 

This  was  the  signal  for  a  rush  forward  by  the  crowd, 
carrying  cups,  jugs,  etc.,  each  bent  on  getting  some 
of  the  precious  water.  Leaning  down  towards  the 
supplicants,  the  priests  on  the  stand  crossed  their 
breasts  and  touched  their  foreheads  with  green  twigs 
dipped  in  the  holy  water.  So  it  went  on  till  everyone 
was  satisfied. 

Gradually  the  people  began  to  disperse ;  and  we,  who 
had  been  looking  on,  returned  to  hospital  to  resume  the 
routine  of  the  day. 

Our  beds  by  this  date  were  all  filled  up  again,  and 
we  were  busy  once  more.  Freshly  wounded  men  had 
ceased  to  arrive,  and  our  greatest  trouble  now  was  the 
number  of  compound  fractured  thighs  we  had  to  treat. 
These  unfortunate  cases  came  down  to  us  in  a  horrible 
condition,  usually  in  short  lateral  splints,  always  septic, 
and  mostly  with  from  three  to  five  inches  of  shortening, 
because  no  extension  had  ever  been  applied  to  their 
limbs. 

Having  no  proper  splints,  and  no  extension 
apparatus,  we  had  to  improvise  long  Liston's  by  fasten- 
ing two  laths  of  wood  together  into  a  splint  reaching 
from  the  armpit  to  below  the  heel.  By  this  means  we 
were  able  to  reduce  the  deformity  considerably ;  but  the 
patients  hated  and  dreaded  these  splints,  because  they 
had  to  lie  flat  in  them,  and  it  was  very  difficult  to  feed 
themselves  in  bed.  Moreover,  as  they  were  not  nursed 
at  all,  they  developed  bed-sores  rapidly;  and,  worst  of 
all,  as  there  were  no  sanitary  arrangements  in  the  hos- 


GATHERING  SHADOWS  181 

pital,  they  had  to  be  carried  downstairs  daily,  by  none 
too  careful  stretcher  bearers,  to  an  outside  latrine,  until 
we  thought  of  having  tin  bed-pans  made  in  the  Turkish 
quarter  for  their  use.  That  improved  matters  consider- 
ably. Even  still,  however,  patients  would  persist  in 
loosening  the  bandages  round  their  chests  and  pelves, 
so  that  they  could  sit  up  for  food ;  and  as  a  consequence 
the  ends  of  the  fragments  naturally  got  out  of  position 
again,  and  every  night  we  had  two  or  three  cases  of 
secondary  hemorrhage. 

Our  English  night  orderly  grew  quite  accustomed  to 
this.  He  used  to  apply  a  tourniquet,  and  stand  by  till 
the  messenger  fetched  one  or  other  of  us.  Often  it 
meant  a  night  operation  on  a  blanched  man,  too  weak 
already  to  stand  it.  The  death-rate  was  higher,  there- 
fore, than  one  cared  to  think  about. 

In  the  daytime  moreover,  when  we  were  at  our 
busiest,  with  a  full  programme  of  operations  enough  to 
keep  us  to  nightfall,  it  was  not  uncommon  to  have  an 
urgent  message  from  the  hospital  that  they  were  sending 
over  another  secondary  hemorrhage,  which  would 
arrive,  with  an  orderly  hanging  on  to  the  artery,  at  the 
theatre  door  in  the  middle  of  an  amputation. 

I  think  we  must  have  tied  practically  every  main 
artery  in  the  body  except  the  aorta,  innominates  and 
common  iliacs,  many  times  over.  The  brachial  was  by 
far  the  most  common ;  but  the  number  of  posterior 
tibials  was  quite  extraordinary.  It  is  a  difficult,  rather 
pretty  artery  to  tie,  and  at  first  I  enjoyed  doing  it,  but 
I  soon  got  tired  after  I  had  done  several.  The  popliteal 
and  the  femoral  were  common ;  the  third  stage  of  the 
subclavian  and  the  external  carotid,  less  so.  The 
lingual  and  the  facial  occupied  us  on  several  occasions. 

And  all  the  while  we  knew  that,  with  a  little  care, 
most  of  these  could  have  been  avoided ;  and  if  we  had 
possessed  a  hundred  Thomas'  splints  we  need  not  have 
had  thirty  per  cent,  of  our  deaths.  Of  course  it  was 
nobody's  fault.     The  Serbs  had  less  than  four  hundred 


182  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

doctors  and  practically  no  surgical  equipment  when  war 
broke  out;  many  of  the  doctors  had  been  killed  in  the 
first  two  months,  and  the  rest  were  permanently  over- 
worked. 

The  worst  of  it  was,  that,  after  a  successful  ligature, 
gangrene  would  sometimes  occur  in  the  devitalised  limb, 
and  then  an  amputation  followed  on  the  already  exces- 
sive quantity  we  had  to  do  for  other  causes.  Every- 
thing was  so  septic  that,  no  matter  what  precautions 
we  took,  primary  union  after  amputation  did  not  occur 
in  more  than  twenty  per  cent. 

But  in  spite  of  everything  we  got  excellent  results  in 
many  of  the  cases,  occasionally,  indeed,  results  that 
were  surprisingly  unlikely.  One  such  case  I  can  re- 
member well.  It  was  a  compound  fracture  of  the  upper 
third  of  the  left  thigh  bone,  horribly  septic.  The  man 
was  a  mere  hollow-eyed  skeleton  with  a  running  tem- 
perature of  100  to  102F.  I  begged  him  again  and  again 
to  allow  me  to  amputate  his  thigh.  He  absolutely  re- 
fused. Then  came  a  big  haemorrhage  which  bled  him 
white.  It  was  plugged  and  stopped,  as  he  refused 
everything  else.  A  second  haemorrhage  occurred  four 
days  later.  I  was  in  the  ward  at  the  time,  and  stopped 
the  haemorrhage  by  digital  pressure  on  his  common 
femoral,  while  I  talked  to  the  man,  explaining  that  if  I 
took  my  thumb  off  his  artery  he  would  bleed  to  death. 
Eventually  he  consented  to  let  me  tie  the  artery,  but 
refused  to  have  chloroform,  fearing  I  should  seize  the 
opportunity  of  amputating  whilst  he  was  unconscious. 
Then  and  there  I  tied  the  common  femoral  in  bed,  with- 
out an  anaesthetic,  and  without  any  real  antiseptic  pre- 
cautions. I  expected  the  limb  to  become  gangrenous. 
I  was  quite  sure  the  operation  wound  would  become 
septic.  Instead,  the  incision  healed  by  first  intention, 
the  limb  remained  warm,  and  the  collateral  circulation 
asserted  itself.  I  irrigated  the  gunshot  wounds  for  some 
time,  and  the  patient  eventually  recovered  with  a  limb 
only  two  inches  shorter  than  the  other.      It  was  a 


GATHERING  SHADOWS  188 

triumpli  of  constitution  over  circumstances  and 
experience. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  we  eventually  gave  up  trying  to 
find  the  bleeding  points  in  haemorrhages  in  the  forearm 
and  leg,  tying  nothing  smaller  than  the  brachial  in  the 
arm,  and  the  popliteal  in  the  lower  limb.  Instead  we 
used  to  enlarge  the  wound,  irrigate  thoroughly,  push  a 
drainage  tube  right  through  the  limb,  dress,  and 
bandage  up. 

This  treatment,  besides  saving  a  lot  of  time,  proved 
most  successful.  We  were  very  proud  of  it.  After- 
wards, when  the  English  Medical  Journals  began  to 
reach  us,  we  found  that  a  somewhat  similar  treatment 
had  been  evolved,  independently,  by  our  military 
medical  officers  in  France ;  but  that  did  not  in  the  least 
diminish  our  satisfaction  in  our  own  originality.  On 
the  contrary,  we  looked  upon  it  as  an  endorsement  of 
the  soundness  of  our  judgment. 

Of  antiseptics,  we  possessed  only  Iodoform,  Iodine, 
and  Permanganate  of  Potash,  but  these  proved  invalu- 
able. Sterilised  dressings  were,  of  course,  out  of  the 
question.  Continuous  irrigation  with  saline  was  tried 
on  a  number  of  cases  at  one  time,  but  the  necessity  for 
constant  watchfulness  and  skilled  supervision  proved 
too  much  for  our  untrained  staff.  Things  always  went 
wrong ;  we  had  no  nurses  to  depend  upon ;  and  the 
results  were  most  unsatisfactory. 

Conservative  surgery  was  very  difficult.  Often  we 
made  valiant  attempts  to  save  limbs.  Sometimes  we 
succeeded,  especially  when  helped  by  the  patient. 
Often,  however,  such  attempts  turned  out  disastrously, 
because,  not  being  able  to  cope  with  the  enormous 
amount  of  dressings  to  be  done,  we  could  not  give  them 
all  the  attention  they  required  afterwards.  Sometimes 
we  had  curious  surprises.  I  can  remember  one  of  the 
first,  a  leg  I  tried  to  save  by  gouging  a  long  gutter  in 
the  tibia  for  osteomyelitis.  Our  old  Major  came  along 
when  I  was  doing  it,  shook  his  head  and  said  "  Ampu- 


184  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

tatio.^^  But  I  was  determined  to  save  that  leg.  I 
dressed  the  man  myself  for  three  days.  Then  he  dis- 
appeared one  morning ;  his  bed  was  empty,  and  no  one 
knew  what  had  become  of  him.  I  went  to  look  at  the 
ten  bodies  lying  in  the  mortuary,  but  he  was  not  there. 
Steve,  who  had  given  me  the  anaesthetic  for  the  case, 
was  very  interested. 

"  I  guess,  Father,  he's  a  dead  one  all  right.  He's 
probably  been  buried  already,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

And,  as  the  next  few  days  passed  without  any  sign  of 
him,  I  had  reluctantly  to  admit  the  likelihood  of  the 
conjecture.  It  was  in  the  early  period  when  we  had  no 
real  control  of  the  cases.  We  were  very  overworked  at 
the  time,  and  in  a  week  I  had  forgotten  all  about  him. 

Two  months  later  I  was  looking  at  a  case  of  Typhus 
with  Steve.  "  Well  I'm  jiggered,"  he  said,  "  if  that 
isn't  your  old  tibia.  There's  your  sign  manual  written 
all  down  it." 

It  turned  out  he  had  been  shifted  to  another  floor  by 
mistake  after  a  dressing,  and  so  had  been  lost  sight  of 
until  our  attention  was  again  drawn  to  him  by  Typhus. 
By  all  the  laws  of  poetic  justice,  after  he  had  made  such 
a  valiant  struggle,  he  ought  to  have  recovered  from 
Typhus  also.     But,  alas  for  poetic  justice  ...  he  didn't. 

It  was  about  the  time  we  were  trying  these  conserva- 
tive operations  that  Stretton  fell  ill  with  his  third  attack 
of  Relapsing  Fever.  His  previous  ones  had  been  sharp, 
but  quickly  recovered  from.  Nevertheless,  his  vitality 
had  been  lowered  by  them.  He  was  much  the  oldest 
member  of  the  unit,  too  old  for  such  a  hard  life.  As 
long  as  he  was  in  good  health  he  was  full  of  energy, 
but  as  soon  as  he  was  attacked  by  the  fever  his  years 
began  to  tell.  He  lay  in  bed  all  day.  At  night,  after 
we  had  finished  in  the  theatre.  Sister  Rowntree  used  to 
go  in,  take  his  temperature,  make  his  bed  comfortable, 
teach  Charlie  how  to  make  invalid  food  for  him.  As  a 
rule  one  or  other  of  his  friends  from  the  Paget  Unit  used 
to  look  in  on  him  during  the  day. 


GATHERING  SHADOWS  185 

In  spite  of  everything,  however,  he  grew  weaker  daily, 
his  temperature  kept  up,  his  mind  grew  more  and  more 
clouded,  his  lungs  began  to  clog,  he  started  to  babble 
nonsense. 

Then  we  got  alarmed.  The  Sister  said  he  really 
wanted  two  "  specials  "  on  him,  night  and  day,  if  we 
hoped  to  save  him,  and  that  we  must  ask  the  Paget  Unit 
to  take  him  into  their  hospital. 

That  set  us  acting  rapidly.  It  was  a  risk  moving 
him,  but  we  had  to  take  it.  The  night  was  cold  and 
bitter,  but  luckily  there  was  no  rain.  Wrapping  him  up 
in  blankets,  we  put  him  on  a  stretcher  and  carried  him 
down  the  courtyard  to  a  waiting  fiacre  outside.  The 
stretcher  was  fixed  lengthways,  the  Sister  squeezed  into 
the  cab,  I  mounted  alongside  the  driver,  and  we  bumped 
slowly  along  the  awful  cobbled  streets,  with  the  patient 
groaning  in  the  darkness. 

At  the  other  end,  four  stolid  Austrians  carried  him  to 
his  sick-room.  It  was  a  little  chamber,  formerly  used 
as  a  natural  history  class-room,  containing  large  jars  of 
snakes,  skeletons  of  various  ganoids,  a  huge  stuffed 
eagle  hanging  from  the  roof,  botanical  charts  on  the 
walls,  glass  cases  of  small  stuffed  birds  around. 
Stretton  stared  at  these  uncomprehcndingly.  I  felt  his 
pulse — a  feeble  running  thing  of  160 — and  wondered  if 
he  would  live  through  the  night. 

The  nursing  saved  him.  Two  days  later  he  had  his 
crisis.  In  a  week  we  had  him  back  home  again,  very 
feeble,  very  irritable,  but  keen  as  ever  to  continue  his 
work.  It  was  merely  will  power,  however,  that  kept 
him  going. 

We  had  a  quiet  consultation. 

"  He's  too  old  for  this  rough  life,"  said  the  Chief 
decisively. 

"  He  ought  to  go  home.  If  he  doesn't  he'll  die  here. 
Someone  will  have  to  tell  him  so,"  said  Sherlock. 

But  none  of  us  liked  to.  We  put  him  on  light  duty 
instead,  asked  him  to  give  an  occasional  anaesthetic, 


186  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

handed  over  the  charge  of  some  of  our  sick  orderUes  to 
him. 


The  day  after  he  came  back  we  heard  that  we  were 
to  have  a  Royal  visit  on  the  morrow,  and  there  was 
much  polishing  up  in  consequence.  Uniforms  were 
overhauled,  buckles  and  buttons  made  to  shine  like 
gold,  the  quarters  tidied  up.  We  even  attempted  to 
make  things  at  the  hospital  look  more  ship-shape. 

The  Royal  train  arrived  at  six  a.m.  We  could  see 
it  from  our  courtyard.  The  visit,  we  were  informed, 
was  timed  for  9  a.m.  We  saw  our  Major  in  his  best 
uniform  and  sword,  scabbard  shining,  arrive  betimes. 

We  started  work,  looking  up  occasionally  when  we 
heard  arrivals.  Nothing  happened,  however,  and  we 
gradually  forgot.  After  lunch,  Barclay  and  I  decided 
not  to  postpone  an  operation  for  arterio-venous 
aneurism  we  proposed  doing  on  an  Austrian  prisoner. 
We  finished  our  operation  and  went  over  to  tea.  Still 
nothing.  The  Major  got  very  fussed.  The  Royal  party 
he  knew  was  in  the  city,  and  he  could  not  think  what 
had  happened.  In  the  evening  the  train  steamed  away. 
The  visit  to  the  city  was  over.     We  were  forgotten. 

Next  day  we  learnt  how  it  had  happened.  The 
Prince  had  asked  for  the  English  hospital,  been  taken 
to  the  Paget  Unit,  said  the  proper  polite  things, 
assumed  that  this  was  the  only  English  unit  in  Uskub, 
and  departed. 

Our  Major  was  intensely  distressed,  assured  us  it  was 
no  fault  of  his,  told  us  he  was  sure  no  slight  was  meant, 
apologised  as  if  he  were  responsible. 

Such  feelings  as  we  had  on  our  own  account  were 
those  of  relief,  since  we  were  so  very  conscious  of  the 
deficiencies  of  our  hospital.  But,  for  our  old  Major,  we 
were  very  sorry,  because  we  found,  to  our  surprise,  that 
he  was  really  proud  of  the  place  and  of  us,  since,  in 
spite  of  all  its  drawbacks,  our  mortality  was  lower  than 


GATHERING  SHADOWS  187 

that  of  any  of  the  other  Serbian  hospitals,  and  he 
boasted  we  were  doing  by  far  the  greater  proportion  of 
the  operating  work  in  Uskub.  This  discovery  of  what 
the  old  man  thought  of  us,  as  Steve  remarked,  "  cheered 
us  up  some  ";  and  we  settled  down  to  the  problem  of 
tackling  our  bete  noir,  compound  fractures  of  the 
thigh,  with  renewed  vigour  again.  These,  and  the 
scores  of  septic  knee-joints  we  had,  would,  we  knew, 
provide  work  for  the  next  two  months,  even  if  we  did 
not  take  in  a  single  new  case  in  the  interval.  And  after 
that,  by  March,  we  felt  that,  our  contract  up,  we  could 
return  to  England  with  the  feeling  of  good  work,  well 
and  truly  done. 


It  was  about  this  time  that  the  "  Sergeant  "  got  into 
trouble.  The  "  Sergeant  "  was  one  of  our  orderlies,  a 
very  trim  soldier  who  had  been  through  the  South 
African  campaign,  and  in  the  first  Balkan  war  with  the 
Bulgars.  We  ail  liked  him  very  much.  He  took  orders 
like  an  automaton,  and  carried  them  out,  right  or 
wrong,  with  the  most  rigid  scrupulosity — an  order  to 
him  was  a  sacred  thing. 

He  was  most  gentle  with  the  patients,  never  sparing 
himself  for  their  comfort.  He  kept  himself  and  his 
uniform  spotless,  and  on  all  points  of  military  etiquette 
was  a  mine  of  information.  When  any  of  us  grew  slack 
in  the  matter  of  belts  or  buttons,  in  the  way  we  held 
ourselves  when  out  of  doors,  in  the  smartness  with  which 
we  made  or  answered  a  salute,  we  could  feel  the  dis- 
approval of  his  silence  shouting  at  us  in  the  extra 
punctiliousness  of  his  manner.  But — and  it  was  a  very 
serious  but — he  had  one  weakness — wine,  or  in  this  case 
"  koniak  "  or  "  slevovitza  " ;  and  under  the  influence  of 
alcohol  he  altered  completely  from  a  mild  mannered, 
very  correct  orderly,  to  an  equally  correct  but  deliberate 
fire-eater. 

He  never  drank  except  when  off  duty ;  but  when  the 


188  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

day's  work  was  done  he  would  betake  hiinsclf  to  some 
cafe  in  the  town  with  one  or  more  companions,  imbibe 
slowly  and  sedately,  hour  by  hour,  till  he  was  soaking 
in  it.  He  never  got  incapable.  He  was  always  quiet 
and  correct  in  the  morning.  But  when  he  was  in  this 
condition  there  was  no  mad  escapade  of  which  he  was 
not  capaV)le.  He  was  not  a  good-looking  man,  but 
somehow  he  caught  the  eye  of  women.  There  was 
something  intensely  virile  about  him.  All  women  liked 
himi.  The  sestras  in  the  hospital  used  to  smile  at  him 
when  they  would  take  no  notice  of  any  of  the  other 
orderlies. 

He  talked  very  little  to  the  officers.  I  think  Steve 
and  I  knew  him  best. 

One  evening  he  came  to  me,  clicked  his  heels,  saluted 
gravely  and  said  :  — 

''  Sir,  have  I  your  leave  to  fight  a  duel  to-morrow 
afternoon  ?" 

"A  duel?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Does  it  touch  your  honour,  Sergeant.?"  I  said 
gently,  having  long  ago  ceased  to  be  surprised  at  any- 
thing. 

"  It  does,  sir." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  I  said. 

"  It's  like  this,  sir.  I  was  sitting  in  the  cafe  of  the 
'  Hotel  de  Balkans  '  last  night,  when  a  lady,  a  '  sestra  ' 
at  the  hospital,  came  in  and  smiled  at  me.  I  knew  the 
lady,  sir.  But  this  evening  she  was  with  an  officer,  a 
Lieutenant.  The  officer  took  exception  to  my  smiling 
back  at  her,  and  threw  a  glass  of  wine  at  me.  I  slapped 
him  in  the  face,  sir;  and  he  challenged  me." 

"  I  see.  Sergeant.  But  is  it  permissible  for  you  to 
fight  an  officer?"  I  said,  hoping  thus  to  get  out  of  the 
difficulty. 

"  It  is,  sir,  in  this  country,  if  the  officer  waives  his 
rank  for  the  occasion.  We  discussed  the  matter,  sir, 
and  it  is  in  order." 


GATHERING  SHADOWS  189 

''  I  see.     And  what  weapons  have  you  chosen  ?" 

'*  Well,  sir.  I'm  rather  out  of  practice  with  the 
sabre,  but  I'm  a  fair  shot.     I've  chosen  revolvers." 

We  had  already  had  to  send  one  orderly  home  through 
an  unfortunate  coritretcmps  with  the  military  authori- 
ties. 

"Good  Ix)rd,'"  I  thought.  "It's  all  fixed  U]^ ;  and 
we're  going  to  have  another  beastly  complication  which, 
this  time,  may  drive  us  out  of  Uskub." 

"  When  is  it  to  be  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  took  the  liberty  of  fixing  for  to-morrow 
afternoon  at  three,  hoping  you  would  not  need  me  in  the 
hospital." 

He  was  so  quiet  and  deferential  about  it,  so  casually 
matter  of  fact,  he  had  mc  at  a  conif)lele  disadvantage. 
I  was  not  in  command,  and  as  he  had  told  mc  in  confi- 
dence, he  knew  I  could  not  divulge  his  secret. 

Before  the  great  war,  I  shared,  I  suppose,  the  intel- 
lectual horror  of  duelling  most  people  in  normal  times 
of  peace  possess.  But  the  Prussian  has  changed  all  this. 
We  have  become  more  primitive.  Old  ideas  have  re- 
covered value.  The  war  itself  was  only  a  duel  on  a 
larger  scale.  Men  fought  for  honour,  not  as  individuals 
but  as  nations  ;  and  the  greater  includes  the  less. 

The  only  trouble  in  this  case,  to  my  mind,  was  what 
would  happen  supposing  one  or  other  of  the  antagonists 
was  killed.  How  would  it  affect  our  work?  What 
view  would  the  military  authorities  take  of  it  ? 

I  knew  we,  as  a  unit,  would  have  to  stand  by  our  man 
at  all  costs. 

I  had  a  feeling  that  the  "  Sergeant  "  was  the  better 
man.  I  could  not  visualise  him  as  dead  or  injured 
somehow,  and  experience  has  taught  me  to  rely  on  my 
foreknowledge.     It  is  a  gift  for  good  or  evil  of  the  Celt. 

The  unit,  I  thought,  would  probably  have  to  leave. 
Wc  should  be  too  unpopular  with  the  army  to  remain. 
But  there  was  one  consolation  if  we  did  go  :— the 
patients  would  not  suffer.       Our  work  now  could  be 


190  MY  BALKAN  LOCJ 

taken  on  easily  by  the  staff  of  Serbs,  Greeks,  American- 
Czechs,  Austrians  already  on  the  spot.  Fighting  along 
the  frontier  had  practically  ceased ;  no  fresh  cases  were 
arriving ;  and  there  was  an  adequate  supply  of  doctors 
to  cope  with  all  the  work  that  remained. 

The  next  morning  arrived,  and  I  saw  the  "  Sergeant  " 
working  away,  gently,  methodically  at  his  dressings, 
just  as  if  nothing  was  going  to  happen.  In  the  after- 
noon, as  I  expected,  he  disappeared. 

"  I  guess  there's  some  dirty  work  at  the  cross-roads 
by  now,"  said  Steve,  glancing  at  his  watch  about  three- 
thirty. 

"  Hope  the  poor  old  '  Sergeant  '  is  all  right,"  I  said, 
with  a  momentary  qualm. 

'"  You  bet  your  life,"  said  Steve,  cheerfully. 

But,  of  course,  it  was  all  very  foolish  of  us.  There 
must  have  been  half  a  hundred  witnesses  of  the 
encounter.  None  of  us  had  thought  of  that.  We  also 
had  forgotten  the  lynx-eyed  Serbian  government. 
When  we  got  back  from  the  operating  theatre  we  found 
it  was  all  over;  the  '*  Sergeant  "  had  returned  to  his 
quarters;  there  had  been  no  duel. 

What  had  happened  was  that  the  Serbian  officer  had 
been  interrogated  that  morning,  given  his  orders,  and 
sent  off  to  the  Albanian  frontier  on  duty,  forthwith. 
Equally  quietly  the  "  Sergeant  "  had  been  called  before 
the  Major  and  our  Chief,  his  story  taken  down  and 
corroborated.  He  was  then  given  to  understand  that 
no  blame  was  attached  to  liim,  but  that  a  duel  was  out 
of  the  question,  the  episode  was  over,  and  he  was  to 
think  no  more  about  it. 

So  it  ended.  He  never  mentioned  the  matter  again. 
Neither  did  we.  And,  in  the  shadow  of  the  graver 
things  that  were  to  follow,  it  was  soon  forgotten. 


It  was  just  after  this  that  we  had  trouble  with  the 
Little  Red  Woman.     Whilst  she  was  awav  at  Monastir 


GATHERING  SHADOWS  191 

another  lady  doctor,  Madame  Markovitch,  arrived  in 
Uskub  from  France,  and  put  her  services  at  the  disposal 
of  the  Major.  We  wanted  an  extra  physician  badly, 
especially  one  who  could  speak  the  language,  because 
treating  people  medically  without  this  knowledge  is 
much  more  difficult  than  handling  them  surgically. 
Consequently  we  were  very  glad  to  have  her ;  and  before 
the  Little  Woman  came  back,  she  was  put  in  charge 
of  our  Number  2  Hospital,  where  we  used  to  get  a  lot  of 
Recurrent  Fever,  Small-pox,  and  Diphtheria  mixed  up 
with  our  ordinary  medical  cases.  The  dilliculty  was 
where  to  house  her.  The  city  at  the  time  was  very 
much  overcrowded,  and  there  was  no  place  near  the 
hospital  except  the  Little  Woman's  room.  The 
Major,  poor  man,  greatly  daring,  put  her  there;  and 
there  the  Little  Red  Woman  found  her  on  her  return. 
For  a  day  or  so  she  said  nothing,  but  obviously  she  was 
very  nuich  distressed. 

"  And  she  does  snore  so,"  she  said  to  me,  piteously. 

The  Major  felt  very  guilty,  but  he  was  (piite  helpless. 
He  offered  to  take  the  Little  Woman  into  his  own  house ; 
but  as  he  already  had  Lady  Paget  and  her  secretary, 
it  was  too  much  to  expect  of  him  ;  and  she  knew  it,  and 
refused. 

Then  Madame  Markovitch  got  a  violent  catarrh,  and 
snored  worse  than  ever.  To  atld  to  our  troul)les,  just 
then  some  English  papers  arrived  with  a  long  and 
coloured  account  of  our  work.  Incidentally  there  was 
a  most  laudatory  notice  of  the  Little  Red  Woman  in  it ; 
and  it  was  to  this,  for  some  obscure  feminine  reason, 
that  she  chose  to  take  offence. 

At  once  she  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  I  had 
written  it.  I  was  absolutely  innocent,  but  she  refused 
to  believe  it.  It  must  be  me  ;  and  that  settled  it.  After 
registering  a  protest,  I  left  it  so.  But  there  was  a  dis- 
tinct coolness  between  us  for  some  time.  The  real 
trouble  was  that  she  was  beginning  to  feel  the  strain  of 
her  months  of  overwork,  and  would  not  admit  it. 


192  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Eventually  we  found  a  room  elsewhere  for  Madame 
Markovitch,  and  peace  reigned  once  more. 


By  this  time  surgical  work  was  slackening  down 
everywhere.  We  had  reached  the  middle  of  January, 
and  were  able  to  finish  every  afternoon  before  tea. 
After  the  strenuous  time  we  had  been  having,  this  made 
us  feel  almost  as  though  we  were  loafing.  There  was  a 
spirit  of  change  and  unrest  in  the  air.  One  of  our  men 
asked  if  it  were  true  that  the  unit  was  going  home. 
Many  of  the  Paget  Unit  were  arranging  to  do  so.  One 
of  their  nurses,  who  had  been  very  ill  with  Scarlet  Fever, 
had  decided  to  leave  for  England  in  a  week. 

Stretton,  too,  had  never  quite  picked  up  again.  He 
was  thin,  and  pinched  looking,  had  developed  sciatica, 
and  got  a  return  of  an  old  complaint,  bronchial  catarrh. 
When  we  heard  that  the  nurse  was  returning,  it  seemed 
a  good  opportunity  to  send  him  in  her  company.  There 
was  also  the  orderly  who  had  contracted  small-pox.  He 
was  now  convalescent,  and,  as  he  had  turned  out  rather 
useless,  it  occurred  to  the  Chief  to  send  him  also 
home,  so  that  Stretton  might  have  a  man  to  look  after 
him  should  he  fall  ill  on  the  way.  Arrangements,  there- 
fore, were  made  to  send  all  three  home  by  Brindisi. 

It  is  painful  always  to  say  good-bye  to  comrades  who 
have  been  with  one  in  times  of  difficulty.  One  re- 
members then  all  the  loyal  help  they  have  given  one, 
and  forgets  the  occasional  quarrels  bound  to  arise 
amongst  any  group  of  men  of  independent  thought. 

Stretton  wandered  round  aimlessly  on  his  last  day. 
He  was  glad  to  go,  and  yet  loth  to  leave  us.  He  made 
his  final  purchases,  said  good-bye  to  his  Serbian  friends, 
gave  directions  as  to  what  we  were  to  do  with  his  letters, 
presented  me  with  his  camp-chair,  bath  and  wash-stand. 

We  had  a  little  farewell  dinner,  with  Sister  Rowntree, 
the  Little  Red  Woman  and  the  Consul  present.  The 
Chief    made    a    quite    felicitous    speech,    Stretton     an 


GATHERING  SHADOWS  193 

emotional  reply.  We  all  felt  rather  ashamed  of  our- 
selves, hating  to  show  any  feeling. 

Then  we  separated  to  write  the  letters  which  Stretton 
was  to  take  with  him  and  post  in  England. 

It  was  five  in  the  morning  when  we  were  called  to 
breakfast.  The  train  was  due  to  leave  at  six;  and  at 
the  last  moment  our  party  nearly  missed  it.  An  urgent 
message  came,  and  we  rushed  over  to  find  everyone  else 
there,  and  the  train  already  delayed  ten  minutes  on  our 
account.  Quickly  Stretton  was  bundled  in,  the  guard 
blew  his  horn,  the  engine  whistled,  and  the  train  moved 
slowly  out  of  the  station. 

Then  we  went  back,  feeling  curiously  lonely.  It  was 
the  first  break  in  the  unit. 


N 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN 

The  Polymesis — An  operation  in  the  street — The  shadow  of  Typhus — 
Sister  Rowntree  joins  us — The  Unit  is  stricken  for  the  first  time — 
"  Bolivani  "  and  the  trouble  with  James — The  funeral  of  the 
Serbian  Major — The  Tzigane  village — Why  the  women  are  plain 
in  Macedonia — Storing  Mannlichers — Sherlock  gets  Typhus — Our 
first  death  in  the  Unit — A  Serbian  afternoon  call — The 
"  Sergeant  "  gets  it — Why  the  Austrian  was  treated  in  a  hay-loft 
— I  pay  a  visit  to  Nish — We  meet  the  Royal  Free  Hospital  Unit — 
The  Ruski  Tzar  and  Anna— The  "  Pyramid  of  Skulls  "—The 
Serbian  Red  Cross— How  we  discommoded  the  two  Greeks — 
English  nurses — Back  to  Uskub. 

THE  Hospital  for  Contagious  Diseases  at  Uskub 
was  called  the  "  Polymesis,"  otherwise  the 
"  half  moon."  When  we  had  any  case  in 
our  hospital  we  wished  to  transfer,  we  sent  a  notice  to 
the  "  Chancellery,"  the  Major's  office,  and  after  more 
or  less  delay  a  decrepit  one-horse  ambulance  would 
arrive  and  carry  off  the  patient.  When  there  was  rather 
a  rush,  and  the  ambulance  was  not  available,  the  man 
was  simply  bundled  into  a  fiacre  and  sent  along,  the 
fiacre  afterwards  returning  to  ply  for  hire  just  as  before. 

The  Polymesis  itself  was  rather  a  fine  building  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  city,  on  the  far  side  of  the  Vardar, 
and  had  been  the  British  Red  Cross  Hospital  during  the 
first  Balkan  war.  When  I  visited  it  soon  after  our 
arrival  it  was  full  of  relapsing  fever,  with  a  few  typhoids 
and  diphtherias.  Even  then  it  was  staffed  largely  by 
Austrian  bolnitchers. 

The  Doctor  in  charge  had  much  too  much  to  do,  and 
consequently,  being  a  Greek,  he  did  not  do  it.  Evi- 
dently he  was  no  surgeon,    for   when    a   bad    case    of 

194 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  195 

diphtheria  requiring  tracheotomy  came  under  his  care, 
he  used  to  send  it  on  to  us.  Once,  coming  out  of  the 
Hospital,  the  Chief  came  across  such  a  patient  on  a 
stretcher  being  brought  in  with  acute  laryngeal  obstruc- 
tion. The  man  obviously  required  instant  tracheotomy. 
Quickly  the  Chief  ordered  him  to  be  brought  round  to 
the  theatre,  which  was  in  an  adjoining  building,  mean- 
while hastening  in  front  to  get  the  instruments  ready. 
Finding  the  man  did  not  arrive,  he  rushed  downstairs 
into  the  street  again,  to  find  that  the  bolnitchers,  rather 
tired  of  their  burden,  had  placed  the  stretcher  in  the 
snow  on  the  ground,  and  were  having  a  rest.  A  glance 
showed  that  there  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Luckily 
the  theatre  orderly  was  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the 
time,  and  the  Chief  shouted  to  him  to  bring  the  instru- 
ments down.  Then  and  there  he  performed  the  opera- 
tion, without  anaesthetic,  in  the  street  with  all  the 
curious  passers-by  looking  on.  The  man  recovered. 
After  that  we  preferred  to  keep  our  bad  diphtheria 
cases,  whenever  possible,  knowing  that  they  were  cer- 
tain to  die  if  we  let  them  go. 

The  day  after  Stretton  had  gone  home,  Sherlock 
came  to  me  in  great  excitement. 

"  They've  got  two  cases  of  typhus  in  the  Polymesis," 
he  said. 

"  Real  typhus  ?  What  we  call  typhus  ?"  I  queried. 
"  Last  time  you  went,  you  remember,  they  turned  out 
to  be  typhoid." 

"  Yes.  Real  Typhus — Typhus  Exenthematicus,"  he 
said.  "  I  hear  there's  no  doubt  about  it  this 
time." 

"  Well,  you  know  what  I  think,"  I  answered.  "  I 
know  you  and  the  Little  Woman  will  go  to  see  them.  I 
can't  stop  you.  But  I  do  ask  you  not  to  handle  the 
cases  when  you  go.  They're  deadly  contagious.  You 
may  bring  it  back  to  the  mess.  I  don't  like  it.  If 
we've  got  to  handle  it  in  our  work,  well,  we've  got  to 
handle  it.     I  don't  mind  that.     I've  done  it  before,  and 


196  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

I  can  do  it  again.  But  I'm  not  looking  for  trouble.  I 
confess  I'm  frightened  to  death  of  it." 

I  stared  hard  at  him  as  I  spoke,  and  watched  his  jaw 
hardening.  Sherlock,  I  knew  by  now,  was  a  very 
obstinate  little  man,  full  of  courage,  full  of  scientific 
curiosity.  He  had  never  seen  typhus,  and  he  would  not 
have  missed  this  opportunity  for  worlds. 

"  We're  going  this  afternoon,"  he  said.  "  I'm  as 
keen  as  mustard,  and  so  is  the  Little  Woman.  I  see 
your  point  all  right,  but  I'm  going  all  the  same." 

They  came  back  mightily  pleased.  The  cases  were 
real  typhus,  and  the  rest  of  the  unit  grew  very  excited 
at  the  news.  None  of  the  others  had  ever  seen  a  case ; 
I  was  the  only  one  with  any  practical  experience ;  and 
their  enthusiasm  somehow  seemed  queerly  ominous  to 
me.  We  had  a  full  house  debate  over  the  disease 
throughout  tea.  They  all  rushed  for  their  text-books, 
and  soon  we  were  in  the  midst  of  a  violent  controversy, 
quarrelling  furiously  over  technical  points.  The 
English  manuals,  "  Osier,"  and  "  Taylor "  differed 
from  the  Little  Woman's  German  text-books.  She 
declared  that  when  the  fever  had  been  at  its  height  for 
about  a  fortnight,  it  gradually  fell  to  normal  in  approxi- 
mately a  week,  and  pointed  to  typical  charts  in  her 
text-books  as  evidence.  We,  on  the  other  hand,  main- 
tained that  at  or  about  the  end  of  a  fortnight  there  was 
a  *'  crisis,"  followed  by  a  rapid  fall  to  normal  in 
twenty-four  hours.  We  showed  her  typical  charts  in 
the  English  text-books  indicating  this,  but  she  would 
have  none  of  it. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  we  were  each  right.  For  later 
we  frequently  came  across  cases  of  both  varieties.  In 
Ireland  now  (as  in  England  formerly)  most  but  not  all 
the  cases  end  in  a  "  crisis."  In  the  Continental 
variety  nearly  all  the  cases  develop  a  temperature  which 
gradually  subsides.  Otherwise,  clinically,  there  is  no 
difference.  All  the  other  symptoms  are  alike.  Oddly 
enough  almost  all  the  cases  that  occurred  later  among 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  197 

our  own  orderlies  and  doctors  recovered  by  crisis, 
whereas  amongst  the  Serbs  and  Austrians,  "  lysis,"  that 
is  a  gradual  fall  of  temperature,  was  the  more  common. 

But  at  the  time  these  early  cases  occurred  we  did  not 
know  this,  and  the  dispute  lasted  for  days. 

Meanwhile  things  were  happening. 

In  a  day  or  two  we  heard  there  were  now  over  twenty 
cases  at  the  Polymesis.  Then  we  learnt  that  it  had 
broken  out  amongst  the  Austrian  prisoners  segregated 
in  the  old  cavalry  barracks  on  the  road  to  Kumanovo. 

Next  morning  Sherlock  came  to  me. 

"  I  want  you  to  look  at  a  suspicious  case  in  No.  3 
Hospital  if  you  would,"  he  said. 

We  went  round.  The  man  was  lying  drowsily.  At  a 
word  from  the  bolnitcher  he  sat  upright  and  threw  his 
blanket  rapidly  off.  I  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 
looked  at  him. 

"  Where  does  he  come  from  ?"  I  said. 

"  He's  one  of  a  batch  in  last  night,  by  train,  from  up 
country,  I  think,"  said  Sherlock. 

"  Well,  my  son,  he's  got  it  all  right;  and  you'll  soon 
know  all  about  it  now.  We're  going  to  have  an  epi- 
demic in  this  awful  place  of  ours.  There  must  be 
hundreds  of  contacts  from  this  case  alone,"  I  said. 

Sherlock  nodded. 

"  You're  a  cheerful  person,  I  must  say,"  he  remarked. 

"  What  about  his  spleen  ?"  I  asked  suddenly. 

"  It's  enlarged,"  he  answered  promptly. 

"  So.  You've  been  feeling  it  with  your  bare  hands, 
have  you  ?  And  you've  been  examining  him  without 
anything  over  your  uniform,  have  you?"  I  said  re- 
proachfully. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  it,"  he  answered  stubbornly. 

'*  I  remember  when  I  was  not  afraid  of  it  either,"  I 
murmured.  "  But  I  am  now — frightened  to  death. 
Get  him  away  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

The  man  was  an  Austrian.  They  moved  him  that 
afternoon,  and  we  hoped  we  had  been  prompt  enough. 


198  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

lie  was  sent,  mattress  and  all,  so  that  no  one  would  be 
put  on  his  infected  bed. 

"It's  a  good  thing  he  was  not  in-  the  big  Surgical 
Hospital,"  said  Barclay  when  he  heard  of  it.  "  It 
would  be  awful  if  the  operation  cases  began  to  develop 
it." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  gloomily. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Sister  llowntree  asked  if  she 
might  join  our  unit  permanently. 

All  the  time  we  had  been  working  we  had  felt  in- 
tensely the  al)scnce  of  skilled  nursing  in  the  hospital. 
Her  presence  with  us  would,  we  knew,  be  an  immense 
boon.  But,  with  the  prospect  of  an  epidemic  coming 
on  us,  I  felt  it  would  be  most  unfair  to  include  her  in 
the  risk,  unless  she  fully  understood  what  she  was 
undertaking. 

"  I've  been  through  this  thing  before,"  I  said.  "The 
chance  of  our  escaj)ing  scot  free  is  just  nothing  at  all. 
Now  that  the  old  man  and  two  orderlies  are  gone,  we 
are  reduced  to  fifteen.  Of  this  fifteen,  possibly  more 
than  half  arc  going  to  get  it.  Some  are  going  to  die — 
no  one  knows  which,  or  how  many — Vjut  some  certainly. 
Now  you  can  keep  out  of  it  quite  easily.  You  came  for 
three  months.  Your  time  is  up.  You  can  go  home  to 
England  to  your  work  there  with  an  absolutely  clear 
conscience.  If  you  join  us,  you  are  doing  so  at  a  risk 
we  have  no  right  to  ask  you  to  accept.  I  don't  advise 
you  to  join  us.     What  do  you  think?" 

I  have  ceased  marvelling  at  the  things  the  English 
nurse  is  capable  of  doing.  It  isn't  as  if  it  were  one 
woman.     They  seem  all  to  be  alike. 

"  I'll  come,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  Knowing  the  risk  ?" 

"Certainly." 

And  that  settled  it.  The  Chief  found  a  room  for  her 
close  to  the  hospifal,  and  we  took  her  "  on  the  strength" 
of  our  Mission  (the  "  1st  British  Red  Cross  Serbian 
Unit  **)  next  day. 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  lUU 

As  I  have  mentioned,  a  number  of  our  orderlies  had 
been  ill  with  relapsing  fever,  but  none  of  them,  save 
Edwards  and  Gulliver,  ever  caused  us  any  anxiety. 
Edwards  was  our  youngest  member,  Gulliver  our 
oldest. 

In  the  middle  of  his  attack  Gulliver  nearly  died.  His 
heart  suddenly  began  to  dilate  and  flag.  We  were  very 
anxious  about  him  for  some  days,  and  it  was  then  we 
began  to  feel  how  nmeh  we  would  miss  him  if  anything 
happened — for  in  his  way  he  was  an  institution,  a  source 
of  great  joy.  He  owed  his  life,  I  think,  to  Stretton,  who 
looked  after  him  untiringly,  and  got  him  wtll  just  lufort' 
he  himself  went  home.  An  elderly  grey  man,  in  civil 
life  a  i)lumber,  or,  as  he  termt-d  it.  a  sanitary  engineer, 
he  was  a  most  eHicient  orderly,  had  a  smattering  of 
colloquial  French  and  German,  and  was  most  compla- 
cently conscious  of  his  own  imp(jrtance.  The  other 
orderlies  called  him  Doctor  Ciulliver,  half  in  derision, 
half  in  respect,  and  he  accepted  the  title  quite  blandly 
as  liis  right.  There  was  no  self-consciousness  about 
Gulliver. 

\\  hen  he  recovered  we  decided  not  to  risk  taking  him 
back  into  hospital,  but  to  keep  him  un  "  light  duty  "  as 
a  permanent  orderly  about  the  (juarters,  to  act  as 
Sanitary  Inspector,  Assistant  Quartermaster,  general 
handyman  and  go-between.  If  he  had  been  made 
Prime  Minister  he  could  not  have  looked  or  felt 
more  important,  for  whatever  he  did  he  had  the  pleasur- 
able delusion  that  he  was  the  pivot  round  which  the 
entire  mechanism  of  the  unit  revolved.  Naturally  he 
pleased  us  very  much.  As  Steve  remarked  he  was 
'*  some  considerable  duck." 

The  other  man  was  totally  different.  He  was  a 
charming  diihdent  boy,  quiet,  thoughtful,  delicate  of 
body  but  with  one  of  those  Puritan  consciences,  rigid 
and  intense  almost  to  fanaticism. 

When  the  war  broke  out  he  had  been  deeply  stirred  by 
the  call  of  country.     He  could  not  be  a  soldier;  the  idea 


200  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

of  taking  human  life  was  utterly  repugnant  to  him ;  but 
he  felt  he  must  be  serving  in  some  capacity.  And  so, 
against  the  wishes  of  all  his  people,  he  had  volunteered 
for  this  far-off  sector  of  the  war,  knowing  how  great  the 
need  must  be.  Always  he  was  most  conscientious, 
always  he  worked  his  body  not  by  its  capacity  but  by 
the  demands  his  soul  made  upon  it.  And  every  con- 
tagious disease  that  came  along  he  got.  Twice  he  went 
down  with  relapsing  fever.  Afterwards  he  became  ill 
with  a  form  of  scarlet  fever  endemic  in  the  Balkans. 
When  he  recovered  from  this,  as  he  was  not  strong 
enough  to  stand  the  drudgery  of  dressing,  we  put  him 
on  to  helping  Sherlock  on  the  medical  side.  It  was 
Sherlock's  habit  to  go  slowly  round  from  patient  to 
patient  finding  out  symptoms,  and,  as  he  diagnosed, 
handing  them  a  pill,  a  tablet  or  a  powder  from  a  nested 
tray  he  had  made  for  him.  This  he  did  twice  daily, 
because  we  had  no  bottles  with  which  to  dispense 
medicines. 

It  was  Edwards'  duty  to  carry  the  tray  round  after 
the  doctor.  The  other  orderlies  called  it  the  "  winkle 
box,"  but  Edwards  was  very  proud  of  it,  and  kept  the 
various  drugs  scrupulously  to  their  own  compartments. 

Things  went  on  like  this  for  about  a  fortnight,  then 
he  became  ill  again.  His  temperature  shot  up  rapidly; 
he  had  intense  headaches;  and  he  was  once  more  rele- 
gated to  bed,  much  to  his  disgust,  on  the  very  day 
Stretton  and  his  orderly  left  for  England. 

He  was  sleeping  in  the  dormitory  with  the  other  men, 
the  diagnosis  being  another  attack  of  relapsing  fever, 
which  most  of  the  others  had  already  had.  Sherlock 
was  looking  after  him,  and  in  the  press  of  work  no  one 
paid  much  attention  to  him.  Gulliver  attended  to  his 
needs  during  the  day,  took  his  temperature  and  re- 
ported regularly. 

When  he  had  been  ill  five  days,  Sherlock  came  for  me 
to  the  hospital  where  I  was  busy  looking  after  my 
operation  cases  with  the  Serbian  sestra. 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  201 

"  I  want  you  to  come  and  see  Edwards,"  he  said 
hurriedly. 

"  Now  ?"  I  queried  in  surprise. 

"  If  you  would.  I'm  rather  worried  about  him. 
He's  not  very  well.     Sorry  to  bother  you." 

We  left  the  hospital  together,  and  crossed  over  the 
road,  dodging  behind  a  bullock  waggon  laden  with  fire- 
wood which  some  Austrian  prisoners  were  unloading  in 
our  back  garden. 

We  found  the  patient  lying  in  the  dormitory  with 
Gulliver  on  duty  over  him.  His  bed  was  the  middle 
one  of  seven. 

Together  we  examined  him  carefully.  Then  we  went 
out  into  the  yard  and  stared  at  one  another  solemnly. 

"  D'ye  think  he's  got  it  ?"  said  Sherlock. 

"  I'm  quite  sure  of  it.  The  abdominal  rash  is  abso- 
lutely typical,"  I  answered.     "  Let's  wash  our  hands." 

Mechanically  we  went  into  my  room  and  disinfected 
our  hands. 

"I'll  go  and  tell  the  Chief,"  I  said.  "  You  see  about 
the  isolation." 

Then  I  went  back  to  the  hospital  thinking  hard.  Of 
course  I  knew  what  we  were  in  for.  The  chances  of 
stopping  the  further  spread  were  almost  nil.  We  had  to 
try,  of  course.  We  did  try.  But  Fate  was  too  strong 
for  us.  The  man  had  been  lying  for  five  days  amongst 
his  fellow  orderlies,  and  they  were  now  all  contacts. 

It  was  impossible  to  diagnose  him  sooner,  for  the 
symptoms  are  almost  identical  with  relapsing  fever  until 
the  rash  appears,  and  by  that  time  the  mischief  is  done. 
Of  course,  if  we  had  had  a  microscope  with  us  we  could 
have  told  at  once  whether  it  was  relapsing  fever  or  not, 
but  we  had  no  laboratory  fittings  of  any  kind. 

Whilst  there  was  no  bad  epidemic  we  could  carry  on, 
but  now  the  real  trouble  was  coming  on  us,  we  began  to 
feel  our  deficiencies  acutely. 

I  found  the  Chief  and  told  him  of  our  discovery.  He 
turned  out  at  once  to  see  the  patient.     When  he  came 


ii02  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

back  he  told  ine  he  thought  I  was  wrong.  Naturally  I 
was  nettled. 

"  Ever  seen  typhus  before  .^" 

"No." 

"  Well  you've  seen  it  now,  and  you're  going  to  see 
some  more.     Get  the  Major  to  look  at  the  boy." 

The  Major  had  lived  in  the  city  for  thirty  years.  In 
peace  time  he  was  its  Medical  Officer  of  Health.  The 
disease  was  endemic  in  the  country,  and  he  saw  a  few 
cases  every  year.  Like  all  the  Serbians  he  believed  the 
infection  was  carried  in  the  breath. 

We  sent  for  him.  He  seemed  very  quiet  and  de- 
pressed that  morning ;  but  he  came  over  at  once  when 
we  asked  him,  patted  the  boy  kindly  on  the  head,  said 
he  was  doing  splendidly,  then  came  out  and  told  us  he 
was  a  typical  case  of  a  severe  type,  and  advised  us  to 
inject  him  with  10%  camphor  oil  every  three  hours. 

Incidentally  he  informed  us  that  his  colleague,  the 
Major  in  charge  of  the  "  Idahya  "  (No.  2  Reserve  Hos- 
pital), had  died  of  typhus  that  morning.  They  had 
been  old  college  chums  together  in  Vienna,  and  he  felt 
his  death  most  acutely.  No  wonder  we  had  thought 
him  depressed. 

He  suggested  we  should  send  the  patient  to  the 
Polymesis,  promised  to  have  a  single  room  for  him,  and 
assured  us  he  would  receive  every  attention.  But  the 
plan  did  not  please  us.  We  did  not  like  the  idea  of 
abandoning  one  of  our  men  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
untrained  Austrian  orderlies.  The  gate-house,  where 
we  had  isolated  our  small-pox  case,  was  now  disinfected 
and  vacant.  That,  we  decided  was  the  place  for  him. 
The  question  was  who  was  to  look  after  him  there. 

"  We've  got  to  put  it  to  the  orderlies  and  ask  for  a 
volunteer,"  said  Barclay. 

Sherlock  and  I  went  to  interview  them  after  lunch. 
We  explained  to  them  the  risk,  and  suggested  that  one 
of  the  unmarried  men  should  volunteer.  I  think  there 
were  four  unmarried  men.     They  all  volunteered,  and 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  203 

we  picked  Glazier  as  being  the  man  of  the  finest 
physique  among  them. 

The  patient  was  moved  that  afternoon  on  a  stretcher, 
and  made  comfortable  in  the  gate-house.  We  obtained 
a  bell  tent  from  the  Command,  and  pitched  it  in  the 
front  courtyard  for  Glazier.  He  moved  his  kit  into  it, 
and  from  thenceforth  was  taboo  to  all  the  others.  A 
special  Austrian  orderly  was  detailed  to  bring  his  and 
the  patient's  food.  All  dishes  were  separate;  com- 
nmnication  with  the  mess  was  prohibited;  and  thus  we 
hoped  to  check  the  course  of  the  infection  amongst 
ourselves. 

At  the  time  it  was  exceedingly  ditlicult  to  lind  out 
how  extensive  the  epidemic  had  already  become. 
Censorship  was  very  strict,  and  the  Serbian  Government 
was  doing  everything  possible  to  conceal  the  ravages  the 
disease  was  making  in  its  army,  liut  gradually  things 
leaked  out.  Already  one  hundred  and  twenty-three 
doctors  had  been  stricken  by  the  disease  in  North 
Serbia.  Already  ninety-seven  of  these  doctors  had  died. 
The  disease  appeared  to  have  started  in  the  Valievo  dis- 
trict, and  it  was  spreading  steadily  south.  Nish  was 
said  to  be  full  of  it,  and  no  precautions  whatever  were 
being  taken  to  prevent  contacts  wandering  all  over  the 
country.  Soldiers  on  leave,  refugee  peasants,  con- 
valescent patients  travelled  freely  by  train  spreading 
the  virus  as  they  went. 

Next  day  an  Austrian  medical  student,  a  very  good 
fellow,  who  had  been  helping  Sherlock,  was  stricken  in 
our  No.  3  Hospital.  So  far  our  surgical  hospital  had 
escaped,  and  we  were  congratulating  ourselves.  But 
on  the  following  day  the  Little  Red  Woman  discovered 
one  on  the  third  floor  amongst  my  operation  cases.  We 
bundled  him  off  at  once  to  the  Polymesis ;  and  then  we 
looked  at  one  another.  It  was  getting  closer  and  closer 
to  us.  Presently,  we  knew,  it  would  be  all  over  us ;  but 
as  long  as  we  were  able  to  carry  on  we  decided  to  do  so. 

The  suggestion  was  made  to  us  at  this  time  that  we 


204  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

should  transfer  our  energies  to  Belgrade,  which  was 
officially  free,  taking  all  our  surgical  cases  to  a  new  hos- 
pital there.  The  Chief  considered  the  offer  carefully, 
but  the  number  of  contacts  was  too  great  to  permit  us 
to  hope  to  be  able  to  keep  the  infection  away  from  us, 
supposing  we  did  go  there.  The  trouble  about  the 
disease  is  that  it  takes  from  twelve  to  fourteen  days  to 
show  itself  after  infection,  and  all  this  time  the  patient 
has  absolutely  no  symptoms.  Consequently  any  one  of 
us  might  have  it  without  knowing  it,  and  it  might 
declare  itself  any  time  after  the  proposed  transfer. 
Therefore  we  decided  against  any  move  for  the  time 
being. 

A  domestic  trouble  distracted  our  minds  a  little  just 
then.  Owing  to  the  fact  that  fighting  on  the  frontier 
had  practically  ceased,  convalescent  patients  were 
being  granted  "  leave  "  much  more  liberally.  When  a 
man  was  ready  for  discharge,  therefore,  he  used  to  come 
along  with  his  "  leesta,"  and  on  it  we  would  mark  10, 
15,  25,  30  days  according  to  the  nature  of  his  wound, 
and  the  length  of  time  it  took  him  to  reach  his  destina- 
tion. Owing  to  the  poor  railway  accommodation,  many 
of  these  men  living  away  from  the  line  in  remote  villages 
had  as  much  as  five  or  six  days'  walking  to  do  from  the 
nearest  railhead.  But  almost  all  of  those  who  were 
able  to  walk  were  eager  to  get  home.  Many  of  them 
had  been  away  over  two  years ;  and  some  had  no  idea 
w^hatever  of  the  whereabouts  of  their  womenkind  and 
children  after  the  Austrian  irruption,  or  of  the  fate  of 
their  little  farms  since  they  had  been  called  up  on  active 
service. 

Naturally  this  "  bolivani  "  (home  leave)  was  eagerly 
sought  after ;  and  we  were  constantly  being  besieged  to 
grant  it,  irrespective  of  whether  or  no  the  patient  was  in 
a  fit  state  to  benefit  by  it.  Naturally  we  had  to  refuse 
many,  much  to  their  disappointment.  Naturally,  also, 
we  were  very  dependent  on  what  the  interpreters  told 
us  about  the  patients'  circumstances,  how  long  they  had 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  205 

been  away  from  home,  how  far  they  were  from  a  mili- 
tary hospital,  and  so  forth. 

The  oriental  mind  is  accustomed  to  the  bribe.  It  was 
only  natural,  therefore,  that  these  illiterate  peasants 
should  think  that  by  offering  something  to  the  inter- 
preters their  chance  of  leave  would  be  bettered.  And 
that  was  what  happened.  Every  man,  when  given 
"  bolivani,"  was  advanced  one  dinar  (one  franc)  for 
each  day's  leave  granted.  If  he  got  ten  days  longer,  by 
a  favourable  appeal  from  the  interpreter,  he  got  ten 
dinars  more.  Most  of  this  found  its  way  into  the  inter- 
preter's pocket,  the  men  being  quite  satisfied  to  get  the 
extra  days.  It  was  the  Little  Red  Woman  who  first 
discovered  what  was  going  on  ;  so  we  made  it  a  rule  at 
once  not  to  grant  leave  to  anyone  brought  up  specially 
by  a  bolnitcher  or  interpreter.  If  the  man  wanted  it, 
he  had  to  come  himself  and  ask  for  it.  Tins  scotched 
the  profit  making.     But  it  did  not  kill  it. 

One  day  the  Major  came  up  in  a  towering  passion. 
He  had  a  '*  bolivani  "  paper  in  his  hand.  The  number 
obviously  had  been  most  clumsily  altered  from  15  to  25 
days'  leave,  and  he  fell  upon  James,  our  Austrian  inter- 
preter, in  a  foaming  rage,  accusing  him  of  having  done 
it.  None  of  us  could  believe  it.  The  risk  to  a  prisoner 
was  so  great.  The  crime  was  forgery  of  a  military 
document  by  a  prisoner  of  war,  and  the  punishment  was 
fifty  strokes  with  the  whip  and  two  years  in  chains.  We 
all  trusted  James  implicitly.  We  could  not  believe  for 
a  moment  that  for  a  paltry  ten  francs  he  would  have 
risked  such  a  horrible  punishment.  James  protested 
his  innocence  vehemently.  He  was  white  with  fear. 
He  begged  us  to  save  him.  It  was  Barclay  who  had 
granted  the  leave;  and,  when  James  appealed  to  him, 
he  said  he  was  not  sure,  but  he  thought  he  probably  had 
altered  the  figures  himself.  It  was  a  horrible  business. 
Eventually  the  Major  calmed  down.  Obviously  he  did 
not  believe  in  the  innocence  of  James,  but  in  deference 
to  Barclay  he  pretended  to  be  satisfied.       When  we 


200  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

talked  the  matter  over  at  lunch,  the  Little  Red  Woman 
said  positively  : 

"  I  am  sure  the  Major  was  right.  He  did  the  number 
forge  to  get  the  money  out  of  the  man." 

"  But  think  how  good  we  have  heen  to  him,  and  what 
a  risk  it  was.  Surely  an  educated  man  like  James 
wouldn't  ?"  I  protested. 

"  He  did  it,"  she  insisted  stoutly. 
"  I  want  to  say  right  now  that  we've  been  suffering 
from  too  much  James  lately,"  said  Steve.  "  We 
thought  he  was  a  white  man.  What  gets  my  goat  is 
that  he's  been  putting  the  blinkers  on  us  all  the  time." 
"  The  trouble  about  Austrians  is  that  though  they're 
very  pleasant,  charming  people,  you  cannot  rely  on 
them — they  always  do  the  easy  thing.  That's  why 
they're  invariably  defeated.  That's  why  the  Germans 
are  on  their  necks  now  like  a  horrible  old  man  of  the 
sea.     I'd  hate  to  be  an  Austrian,"  said  Sherlock. 

*'  I  wish,"  said  Barclay,  "  I  hadn't  shielded  him.  It 
makes  me  look  such  a  fool !  " 

The  difficulty  now  was  what  to  do  with  him.  We  felt 
we  could  trust  him  no  longer.  And  yet  he  was  so  useful 
we  did  not  wish  to  part  with  him.  In  spite  of  what  he 
had  done  we  all  liked  him.  To  send  him  back  to 
Command  to  help  to  repair  roads  seemed  too  cruel. 
We  need  not  have  troubled,  however.  James  settled 
the  matter  himself.  Anthony  announced  at  break- 
fast next  morning  that  he  was  down  with  raging  fever, 
and  quite  delirious. 

"  I  think  it  is  only  relapsing,"  said  Sherlock,  after 
he  had  been  to  see  him. 

"  Where  have  you  got  him  ?  Would  you  like  me  to 
go  and  make  him  comfortable  ?"  said  Sister  Rowntree. 

"  Not  you.  Sister.  We  won't  have  you  where  there's 
fever,"  said  Sherlock  firmly.  "He's  all  right.  He's  in 
the  servants'  quarters  underneath  the  kitchens. 
Anthony  will  look  after  him  all  right." 

That  afternoon  the  funeral  of  the  Serbian  Major  took 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  207 

place.  We  were  busy  with  an  amputation  in  the  theatre 
when  the  sound  of  the  funeral  march  reached  our  ears. 
The  Christian  cemetery  was  on  the  far  side  of  the  rail- 
way, and  to  reach  it  they  had  to  pass  our  hospital.  The 
operation  done,  I  stepped  out  and  joined  the  procession. 

A  half  company  of  men  marched  in  front,  followed  by 
the  band  playing  the  terrible  funeral  march.  Then 
came  the  priests  in  their  vestments,  the  battered  old 
hearse,  and  last  of  all  the  company  of  mourners  with 
lighted  candles. 

How  I  came  to  hate  that  music — the  hearse,  the  slow 
tramp  through  the  mud  past  the  hospital,  over  the  rail- 
way, up  the  slope  to  the  unkempt  graveyard  studded 
with  mouldering  crosses,  the  solemn  chanting  at  the 
grave,  the  ceremonial  eating  of  the  resurrection  cake. 
The  memory  of  it  all  still  fills  me  with  a  creepy  horror. 
It  was  so  often  repeated  in  the  next  three  months. 
Doctor  after  doctor,  friend  after  friend  died,  and  always 
there  was  the  same  music,  the  same  hearse,  the  same 
slow  tramp  of  armed  men,  the  same  wait  at  the  grave- 
side in  the  mud  and  rain,  with  the  same  thought  ever 
at  the  back  of  one's  mind  :  that  at  any  time  one's  own 
turn  might  come. 

As  the  body  was  lowered  everyone  uncovered,  every- 
one depressed  his  sword ;  the  priests,  gorgeous  in  green 
and  red,  chanted  the  Kyrie  Eleison,  and  the  mourners 
near  dropped  earth  on  the  top  of  the  cofhn.  Then  the 
Senior  Officer,  Colonel  Jorovitch,  as  was  the  custom, 
made  a  funeral  oration  above  the  grave,  telling  of  the 
dead  man's  virtues,  his  labours  for  Serbia,  his  quiet 
courageous  death  in  the  service  of  his  country.  After 
that  the  resurrection  cake  was  brought  round,  and 
everyone  took  a  morsel  and  ate  it.  It  is  made  of  wheat 
and  is  emblematic  of  the  rising  from  the  dead,  for  as  the 
grain  of  wheat  buried  in  the  soil  rises  as  a  fresh  green 
shoot  to  life  again,  so  the  body  rises  on  the  last  day 
purified  from  all  its  earthly  ailments. 

The  next  day  was  a  Sunday,  a  beautiful  warm  day 


208  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

under  a  sky  of  cloudless  hlue.  Far  off,  the  white-capped 
mountains  shimmering  on  the  Bulgarian  frontier  called 
to  us.  Everywhere  the  people  were  out  lazily  enjoying 
the  sudden  warmth.  As  Steve  and  I,  stimulated  by  the 
breath  of  Spring,  casting  our  troubles  behind  us,  started 
forth  armed  with  cameras  for  a  long  country  walk,  we 
were  feeling  comparatively  happy.  Edwards,  our 
orderly,  appeared  better ;  no  fresh  cases  had  occurred 
that  day  in  the  hospital ;  and  none  of  the  rest  of  our  men 
showed  any  signs.  Coming  to  the  Vardar  bridge  we 
made  straight  for  tlie  old  town  up  the  hill  past  the 
Citadel.  Here  we  came  on  the  Tzigane  village,  a  set  of 
picturesque,  tumble-down  mud  dwellings  inhabited  by 
these  gypsies.  Obviously  they  arc  a  race  apart,  although 
one  finds  them  all  over  the  Balkans.  The  men  dress 
much  like  the  ordinary  peasant,  except  that  they  still 
affect  the  fez.  The  women  I  have  already  described. 
They  age  rapidly,  but  when  young  they  are  very  good 
looking,  their  beautiful  erect  figures,  aquiline  features, 
healthy  brown  skin,  dark  eyes  and  flashing  white  teeth 
set  off  by  their  gaudy  head-dresses,  big  gold  ear-rings 
and  voluminous  green,  red  or  purple  trousers  over  the 
slim  brown  ankles,  all  forming  a  picture  which  catches 
the  artistic  eye  instinctively.  Compared  with  the 
Macedonian  peasant  women,  in  good  looks  they  stand 
out  infinitely  superior,  for  indeed  in  Serbian  Macedonia 
one  thing  which  struck  us  forcibly  was  the  exceeding 
plainness  of  the  women. 

When  we  were  discussing  the  cause  of  it,  Steve 
said  : 

"  I  have  a  hunch,  Father,  that  in  the  old  days,  when 
a  Turk  saw  any  good-looking  woman  about,  she  dis- 
appeared into  his  harem  in  mighty  quick  time." 

"  So  only  the  plain  ones  were  left  for  the  Christians 
to  marry,"  I  suggested,  as  the  obvious  corollary. 

"  Yes,  sirree;  you  get  me,"  said  Steve. 

Half  w^ay  over  the  hill,  beyond  the  artillery  barracks, 
there  was  a  well  from  which  the  Tzigane  women  drew 


Pl;ite  IX.-   Serbi.-iii   soldiers  limitini;-  fur   lire   (ji.  -209). 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  200 

water;  and  here  they  stood  round  and  gossiped,  with 
great  earthenware  amphorae  on  head  or  shoulder,  mak- 
ing a  most  picturesque  oriental  group.  We  stopped  to 
photograph,  and  immediately  were  surrounded  by  a 
host  of  children  pestering  us  for  baksheesh.  To  avoid 
their  importunities  we  turned  aside  into  the  artillery 
barracks,  where  some  hundreds  of  Serbian  soldiers  were 
quartered.  These  barracks  were  really  old  stables,  but 
they  were  dry  and  weatherproof,  and  made  not  at  all 
bad  quarters.  The  stalls  were  littered  with  straw  on 
which  the  men  slept.  Their  rifles  and  accoutrements 
hung  on  the  wooden  partitions  of  the  stalls.  Men  lay 
about  in  all  stages  of  dress  and  undress,  awake  and 
asleep.  A  number  sat  on  a  bench  round  the  stove, 
smoking  and  making  coffee.  With  the  open  camara- 
derie of  soldiers  they  made  us  free  of  their  mess,  offering 
us  coffee  and  smiling  at  us.  As  usual,  we  were  taken 
for  Russians,  as  these  men  had  just  been  drafted  in, 
and  were  not  yet  accustomed  to  our  uniform.  We 
wandered  about  smiling  at  them  and  being  patted  on 
the  shoulder.  They  all  looked  fit  and  well,  bronzed  by 
the  sun  and  as  hard  as  nails.  All  around  outside  in  the 
sun,  others  were  sitting  sorting  their  gear,  sewing  on 
buttons,  patching  uniforms,  enjoying  the  Sunday  rest 
from  duty. 

Further  along  we  came  on  the  Tzigane  village  again. 
The  women  were  shy  and  retiring  when  we  wanted  to 
photograph  them ;  but  the  men  stood  up  eagerly  and 
seemed  quite  disappointed  when  we  could  not  produce 
a  print  right  away  for  them.  Beyond  the  village,  on 
the  bluffs  overhanging  the  Vardar,  we  came  upon 
another  of  the  numerous  deserted  Turkish  graveyards 
covered  with  headstones  at  every  angle,  looking  for  all 
the  world  like  split  almonds  on  a  cake.  Here  was  the 
cutting  for  a  new  road  towards  Kumanovo ;  and  here 
we  found  a  group  of  Austrian  prisoners  in  their  shabby 
uniforms,  flaying  a  dead  horse  to  be  cut  up  afterwards 
for  rations. 
o 


210  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

It  was  getting  dark  by  now  and  we  were  rather  tired, 
so  we  turned  back,  trudging  along  the  high  road  ankle- 
deep  in  mud — a  mud  which  we  now  had  almost  ceased 
to  notice,  knowing  that  a  few  minutes  under  the  pump 
when  we  got  home  would  wash  it  off  our  high  rubber 
boots,  leaving  them  bright  and  shiny  as  before. 

Stimulated  by  the  walk,  the  fresh  air  and  the  change 
from  hospital,  we  were  rather  talkative  that  evening  at 
first;  but  gradually  we  began  to  feel  depressed  again. 
The  news  was  bad.  Edwards  our  orderly  was  worse. 
The  Major  had  been  to  see  him,  and  had  given  a  very 
grave  prognosis.  In  addition,  James,  our  Austrian 
interpreter,  had  become  a  definite  typhus.  This  was  a 
very  disturbing  fact,  as  he  had  been  sleeping  in  an 
underground  room  with  four  beds,  occupied  by  himself, 
Anthony  our  mess  steward,  and  the  two  Austrian 
kitchen  orderlies.  All  of  these  were  now  bad  contacts, 
and  all  of  them,  especially  Anthony,  had  been  con- 
tinually in  and  out  of  our  quarters. 

Their  underground  chamber  was  a  veritable  death 
trap ;  and  the  first  thing  we  did  was  to  commandeer  two 
more  bell  tents,  which  we  erected  for  Anthony  and  the 
men  in  the  back  garden,  thus  leaving  James  in  posses- 
sion. The  Chief  was  for  sending  him  away  at  once  to 
the  Polymesis,  but  little  Sherlock  would  have  none  of  it. 

"  If  we  do  he'll  die.  I  wouldn't  send  a  dog  there," 
he  protested  vehemently.  "  James  has  worked  well  for 
us  in  spite  of  his  forgery.  We  can't  desert  himi 
now  when  he's  down,  even  at  an  extra  risk  to 
ourselves." 

The  feeling  of  the  mess  was  with  him,  and  the  Chief 
grudgingly  yielded. 

"  It's  a  foolishness,"  he  said  coldly.  "  But  if  you 
will  have  it,  you  will."  Of  course  he  was  right,  and  we 
knew  it ;  but  we  stuck  to  our  point  and  kept  James. 

Our  cup  of  trouble,  however,  was  not  yet  full.  The 
Little  Red  Woman  came  into  dinner,  and  announced 
that  Madame  Markovitch,  the  ancient  lady  doctor  who 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  211 

had  formerly  invaded  her  quarters,  was  down  with 
something  that  might  or  might  not  be  typhus,  and  con- 
sequently our  No.  4  Medical  Hospital  was  without  a 
doctor. 

Sherlock  shrugged  his  shoulders  grimly. 

"  That  means  I'll  have  to  do  the  lot,  I  suppose,"  he 
said.  "  I've  got  300  beds  now,  another  240  won't  make 
much  difference." 

"  You  can't  do  it,"  said  Barclay  decisively.  "  One 
of  us  will  have  to  take  it  on.  You're  overworked  as  it 
is." 

"  That  means  me  then,"  said  Steve. 

"  I  suppose  it  does,"  I  said  thoughtfully. 

He  started  next  morning  with  a  characteristic  whirl  of 
energy.  At  noon  he  announced  to  me  that  he  had  dis- 
covered two  fresh  cases  of  typhus  which  had  developed 
since  the  old  lady  had  been  taken  ill.  He  was  quite 
enthusiastic  about  them. 

"  Come  and  have  a  look  at  them  !  "  he  said  to  me, 
cordially. 

I  went,  just  to  make  sure  he  was  right.  It  was  a 
horribly  over-crowded  place,  mainly  filled  with  sick 
Austrian  prisoners.  The  beds  were  almost  touching. 
Not  a  window  was  open,  and  in  consequence  the  atmos- 
phere was  stifling  in  its  stuffiness. 

I  sniffed  audibly.     Steve  smiled  ruefully  at  me. 

"  I  get  you.  Father  !  "  he  said.  "  You're  quite  right. 
This  is  some  fugg.  But,  believe  me,  I  had  all  the  win- 
dows open  not  half  an  hour  ago.  They  shut  them  again 
as  soon  as  your  little  Willie  had  turned  the  corner — God 
bless  'em  !  " 

Then  we  had  a  look  at  the  two  patients.  Steve 
carelessly  pulled  down  the  blanket  of  the  first  case  him- 
self to  let  me  look  at  the  abdomen — the  place  where  the 
rash  first  appears. 

"  You  mustn't  do  that  yourself,"  I  said.  "  If  this 
disease  is  caused  by  lice,  as  is  supposed,  you're  sure  to 
pick  up  some  that  way." 


212  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

He  stared  at  me  a  moment. 

"  I've  been  doing  it  all  the  morning,"  he  said  soberly. 

"  Well,  don't  do  it  again,"  I  returned  curtly.  "  Let 
the  man  do  it  himself." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  any  of  the  cases. 
"  They've  all  got  to  go  to  the  Polymesis  this  afternoon," 
I  said. 

"I've  got  three  smallpoxes  and  two  *  dips  '  (diph- 
therias). What  about  them  ?"  he  said  casually,  so 
casually  that  I  laughed. 

"  Send  them  all,"  I  said.  "  This  is  a  nice  exciting 
place  of  yours,  isn't  it?" 

"  It's  a  peach  of  a  hospital.  There  isn't  a  single  con- 
tagious disease  it  hasn't  got.  Your  little  Willie  will  be 
some  dog  at  diagnosis  if  he  lives  through  it,"  he 
replied. 

I  had  to  do  a  double  amputation  of  the  thigh  for 
gangrene  that  afternoon,  and  as  I  was  going  round  to 
the  theatre  I  saw  the  ambulance  start  off  with  eight  of 
the  patients.  There  were  six  inside  sitting  up  gazing 
dully  at  nothing.  A  small  boy  was  perched  on  the  box 
seat  driving,  on  one  side  of  him  he  had  a  haemorrhagic 
small-pox  and  on  the  other  a  typhus.  I  thought  I  was 
fairly  well  hardened  at  the  time.  I  confess,  however, 
that  this  rather  startled  me.  Later  on  little  things 
like  that  simply  passed  unnoticed,  for  we  were  using 
every  vehicle  that  plied  for  hire  indiscriminately,  then. 

Next  morning  when  I  went  to  look  at  my  new  ampu- 
tation case,  I  found  the  typhus  rash  beginning  on  him. 
He  died  that  night. 

The  Chief  started  an  elaborate  bathing  system  for  us 
that  evening,  explaining  exactly  what  he  wanted  us  to 
do  to  avoid  contagion.  I  believe  he  stuck  to  his  regu- 
lations himself.  No  one  else  was  able  to  keep  to  them. 
We  were  so  much  in  contact  with  the  cases  that  we 
should  have  been  disinfecting  ourselves  all  day  if  we  had 
tried.     As  Steve  put  it : 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  213 

"  Your  little  Willie  has  no  time  for  fancy  frills.  It's 
a  mighty  tough  proposition  sorting  out  the  cases,  even. 
It's  tougher  still  to  get  rid  of  them.  I  found  fifteen 
fresh  ones  to-day,  ordered  them  off,  and  was  told  I'd 
have  to  have  them  for  keeps,  as  the  Polymesis  label  is 
up  '  House  full.     Standing  room  only.'  " 

"  Good  God,  you  don't  mean  to  say  they  won't  take 
any  more  .f"'  said  Barclay. 

"  Believe  me,  Uncle,  that  is  so.  I  may  be  Rube 
from  Rubeville,  Bean  County,  but  I  have  a  hunch  this 
is  some  epidemic,  by  Heck  !  " 

The  pity  of  it  was,  that,  at  that  very  time,  just  before 
we  had  to  stop  all  surgical  work,  we  were  beginning  to 
find  all  sorts  of  interesting  operation  cases.  That  after- 
noon Barclay  and  I  did  another  arterio-venous 
aneurism  at  the  knee  joint.  The  man  was  an  Austrian 
prisoner,  and,  like  all  these  men,  submitted  quite 
readily  to  operation  when  the  condition  was  explained 
to  him. 

It  had  been  raining  steadily  all  the  morning,  but,  as 
we  finished  operating  that  afternoon,  it  cleared,  and 
when  we  got  into  the  street  we  found  the  road  from 
the  station  blocked  with  a  convoy  of  ox-waggons — all 
piled  high  with  rifles.  There  was  a  long  range  of  store- 
rooms under  our  theatre,  and  here  they  were  being 
packed.  There  were  thirty-five  thousand  of  them,  all 
Mannlichers,  and  they  represented  about  half  the  booty 
captured  from  the  Austrians  during  their  third  retreat  in 
December  1914. 

Helping  to  unload  them  was  a  company  of  Austrian 
prisoners,  and  the  sight  of  these  men  busily  engaged 
sorting  and  piling  the  weapons  captured  from  their  own 
army  was  so  odd  that  I  rushed  off  to  photograph  it. 

A  Serbian  officer,  who  could  speak  some  English,  was 
handling  one  of  the  guns  lovingly. 

"  Ach,  it  is  a  beautiful  weapon,"  he  said.  "  We  will 
these  all  haf  repaired  and  oiled,  they  will  ver'  handy  be 
for  our  new  recruits."     He  made  a  polite  bow  to  an 


214  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

imaginary    vis-a-vis.      "  Thank    you,    Mr    Austrian. 
Thank  you  ver'  mooch,"  he  said,  sardonically. 

The  next  day  was  the  1st  of  February,  1915,  and 
Sherlock  greeted  us  with  the  depressing  news  at  lunch 
that  Martin,  another  of  our  orderlies,  was  down  with 
typhus.  We  had  now,  including  James,  three  cases  in 
the  quarters,  and  considerable  re-arrangements  had  to 
be  made  in  consequence.  Another  orderly  had  to  be 
taken  off  hospital  work  to  go  on  night  duty,  so  that  we 
were  thus  reduced  to  three  working  orderlies  in  the 
hospital. 

The  hospital  itself  was  becoming  more  and  more  in- 
fected. One  day  we  would  be  clear,  and  congratulating 
ourselves  on  the  fact.  The  next,  two  or  three  fresh 
cases  would  crop  up,  and  dash  our  hopes  again.  Each 
fresh  infection  amongst  our  own  men  doubled  the  work 
of  those  that  were  left;  and  all  the  while  we  had  the 
horrible  feeling  that  any  day  any  of  us  might  start 
showing  symptoms. 

Nevertheless  we  took  every  precaution  we  could  think 
of.  The  dormitory  where  our  last  case  had  slept  was 
cleared  and  disinfected,  the  man  was  put  in  the  gate- 
house along  with  Edwards,  and  the  orderlies  in  attend- 
ance were  quartered  in  a  tent  in  the  compound  and  for- 
bidden to  mix  with  the  rest.  Their  things  were  all  kept 
separate,  their  utensils  disinfected  by  boiling  after  use. 
They  had  a  special  Austrian  orderly  to  themselves. 

Only  it  was  impossible  to  isolate  the  doctors.  We 
were  all  equally  exposed.  We  all,  of  course,  wore 
special  overalls  when  at  work.  Most  of  us  wore  rubber 
gloves  in  addition.  These  we  left  behind  in  hospital 
before  coming  to  the  mess. 

The  Little  Red  Woman,  however,  was  a  source  of 
worry  to  us,  for  she  would  take  no  precautions.  In  her 
queer  fatalistic  Russian  way  she  looked  upon  our 
attempts  in  that  direction  as  foolish  and  useless — almost 
cowardly  in  fact.  .  Our  old  Serbian  Major  took  no  pre- 


THE  >llAUO\VS  DEEPEN  215 

cautious;  and  she  wasn't  going  to  cither.  It  might  be 
the  English  way,  but  it  was  not  the  Russian.  She 
handled  her  patients  as  before,  just  as  though  there  was 
nothing  the  matter  with  them.  We  were  all  very  angry 
with  her.  The  Chief  said  nothing.  His  was  the  re- 
sponsibility if  the  unit  was  wiped  out,  and  he  was  pon- 
dering the  matter  quittly  in  liis  slow  way  before  coming 
to  any  conclusion.  Uncc  he  put  forth  the  suggisti»)n, 
tentatively,  that  the  whole  unit  should  clear  out  while 
any  of  us  were  left.  But  the  feeling  was  all  against  it. 
He  probably  did  not  mean  it  himself.  It  gave  him, 
however,  the  opi>ortunity  of  sounding  our  minds,  and 
strengthened  him  in  his  present  inaction. 

The  same  day  he  announced  his  intention  of  going  to 
Nish  to  see  if  he  could  stir  up  the  authorities  there. 

•*  It  is  obvious  the  epidemic  is  spreading,"  he  said. 
"  The  authorities  here,  either  wilfully  or  through  ignor- 
ance, can  give  me  no  information.  I  hear  there  are  three 
thousand  eases  at  Velcs  down  the  line,  and  not  a  single 
doctor  to  look  after  them.  There  is  something  wrong 
with  the  American  hospital  at  Cihevgeli.  NVhen  I  ask 
about  it,  they  avoid  my  questions.  At  Nish  I  shall 
hear  what  is  going  on,  and  what  steps  are  being  taken 
to  arrest  the  disease." 

The  next  evening  he  went.  It  promised  to  Ix?  a  most 
unpleasant  journey.  There  were  thousands  of  refugees 
crowding  back  n(jrth,  to  discover  what  the  .Viistrians 
had  left  of  their  homes  around  Valievo  after  the  retreat. 
The  train  swarmed  with  them  dirty,  unkempt,  full  of 
small-pox  and  tyi)hoid  germs,  relapsing  fever  and 
probably  typhus.  They  invaded  any  and  every 
carriage,  or  camped  out  with  their  goods  and  cliattels 
in  the  corridors.  The  Chief  had  to  sit  up  all  night  in 
a  i)a(k«(i  carriage  in  conseciuence. 

Meanwhile  we  were  left  to  carry  on.  I  found  Unir 
fresh  cases  on  my  floor.  Steve,  who  was  still  taking 
charge  for  the  old  lady  doctor,  now  definitely  diagnosed 
fts  relapsing  fever,  discovered  seventeen  cases. 


216  MY  BALKAN  LO(; 

Sherlock,  who  was  looking  after  our  men,  was  up 
every  three  hours  in  the  night  with  Edwards.  He  had 
reached  the  fourteenth  day  and  was  still  alive.  We 
hoped  for  a  crisis  in  consequence.  Donning  my  overalls 
I  went  down  to  see  hnn  that  night.  He  was  sweating 
profusely,  and  his  temperature  had  dropped  a  little. 
When  I  came  l)ack  and  rejjorted  to  the  sadly  diminished 
little  company,  we  were  all  mightily  cheered.  Later 
the  Consul  came  in  to  see  us,  and  we  had  a  most 
pleasant  evening  going  over  the  history  of  Turkey  in 
Europe.  He  was  a  mine  of  erudition,  and  to  liven  us  up 
we  asked  him  to  give  us  a  definite  set  of  lectures  on 
Balkan  politics.  He  promised  at  once.  Considering 
that  we  were,  quite  rightly,  out  of  bounds  to  the  Paget 
Unit  at  the  time,  ami  that  people  were  afraid  to  stop 
and  speak  to  us  in  the  street,  it  was  most  courageous  of 
him  to  keep  visiting  us.     We  never  forgot  it. 

The  fifteenth  day  of  Edwards*  illness  had  now  arrived. 
From  my  bedroom  window  I  could  look  at  the  gate- 
house, and  I  always  knew  when  the  patient  was  par- 
ticularly bad,  because  then  the  orderly  came  hurriedly 
and  tapped  at  Sherlock's  window,  which  was  next  to 
mine.  The  doctor's  ear  is  particularly  sensitive  to  little 
tapping  noises.  For  years  he  has  been  accustomed  to 
sleep  always  with  his  sub-conscious  mind  listening  for 
that  little  sound  in  the  dead  of  night  that  means 
"  Urgent,  come  at  once."  Loud  noises,  hooting,  shout- 
ing, the  banging  of  doors  may  not  rouse  him ;  but  let 
there  come  the  little  gentle  knock,  and  he  is  instantly 
awake.  Every  time  the  orderly  came  for  Sherlock, 
therefore,  I  could  hear  the  window  tap. 

He  had  not  been  disturbed  since  midnight,  and  I 
hoped  in  consequence  that  the  crisis  really  had  occurred. 

Breakfast  was  now  at  seven-thirty,  and  just  before 
seven  I  heard  the  hurried  tap  as  I  was  dressing. 
Rapidly  finishing,  I  went  along  to  see  the  patient. 
Sherlock  was  already  there  leaning  over  him.  Martin, 
the  other  case,  was  w^atching  us  with  burning,  fevered 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  217 

eyes.  A  glance  showed  mc  that  the  hoped-for  improve- 
ment had  not  occurred.  He  was  lying  with  his  mouth 
open,  rattling.  His  thin  cheeks  seemed  just  to  cover 
the  bones  and  no  more.  He  was  still  unconscious.  His 
eyes,  deep  sunken  in  the  wasted  sockets,  gazed  blankly 
upwards,  as  they  had  done  for  the  last  four  days. 

A  glance  at  the  chart  showed  that  the  temperature 
was  now  at  105. 'J' F.  I  felt  the  pulse.  It  was  just  per- 
ceptible. Sherlock  and  I  looked  at  each  other  and  went 
out. 

"  What  d'ye  think.'"  he  saul  glounuly. 

**  Horribly  disapj)ointing,"  1  answcreil. 

When  we  got  to  the  mess,  the  others,  including  Sister 
Rowntree,  had  already  arrived. 

**  Has  the  crisis  come  .''"  said  Harclay. 

"  No,**  Sherlock  nmrnmred,  helping  himself  to  eggs 
and  bacon. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  the  second  after  weeks  of  rain 
and  sleet  and  nuid,  and,  having  no  operations  arranged 
for  the  afternoon,  Barclay  and  1  decided  to  go  off  into 
the  country  for  a  stroll. 

We  were  just  starting  when  a  l>olniteher  came  rush- 
ing from  the  hospital,  panting  with  excitement  and  lack 
of  breath.  He  was  a  Croat,  so  we  did  not  waste  time 
trying  to  understand  him.  When  we  got  to  the  hos- 
pital, and  saw  the  case,  we  knew  that  our  stroll  was  off 
for  the  moment.  The  man  was  deadly  white.  The  bed 
was  flooded  carmine.  It  was  a  secondary  ha-morrhage 
from  the  left  po|)liteal  artery.  An  Austrian  orderly  was 
hanging  on  to  the  femoral.  Luckily  he  happened  to 
be  a  trained  Army  Medical  man,  for  none  of  our  order- 
lies could  now  be  spared  for  afternoon  duty.  It  was 
Harclay's  week  for  emergencies,  and  I  helped  him  to  tie 
the  artery  in  Hunter's  canal  as  he  lay.  Then  we  went 
out  for  our  interrupted  stroll,  wandered  round  in  the 
bazaar  for  an  hour,  bought  ourselves  a  tin  of  sardines 
as  a  special  treat  for  tea,  and  came  home. 

Steve  was  orderly  ofliccr,  and  as  Sherlock  had  not 


218  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

been  out  of  the  quarters  for  days,  he  persuaded  the 
Little  Red  Woman  to  take  him  off  for  the  afternoon. 
Eventually  they  went,  and  Steve  was  congratulating 
himself  on  a  fine  stroke  of  policy  until  they  returned. 

"Well,  where  did  you  go  to?"  he  said,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  we  went  to  the  Polymesis,  to  call  on  the 
Austrian  doctor  who  is  down  with  typhus  there,"  the 
Little  Woman  answered  airily. 

Steve  stared  at  her  with  open  mouth.  He  was  com- 
pletely astounded.  "  Great  Christopher  Columbus  !  " 
he  murmured  feebly,  and  collapsed. 

We  were  all  furiously  angry.  It  was  such  a  mad  un- 
thinking thing  to  do.  Every  one  of  us,  of  course,  was 
taking  grave  risks  at  the  time,  but  justifiable  risks.  It 
was  necessary,  to  carry  on  our  work.  This,  however, 
was  quite  different.  We  stated  as  much  to  them  both. 
I  think  we  even  used  the  word  "  criminal."  There  was 
a  distinctly  strained  atmosphere  that  evening.  They 
felt  ostracised.  The  Little  Woman  left  early.  Sher- 
lock saw  her  home,  as  usual,  and  then  glided  off  to  see 
his  patients  without  returning  to  the  Salon. 

The  next  day,  however,  we  forgave  them  both.  We 
were  too  close  to  death  to  quarrel  amongst  ourselves. 
It  didn't  seem  worth  while.  Edwards,  our  orderly,  was 
still  alive,  but  hopes  were  getting  fainter  and  fainter. 
We  all  felt  that  he  could  not  last,  now  that  we  knew  he 
had  passed  the  date  of  a  possible  crisis. 

Sherlock  was  very  quiet  and  depressed  that  day.  I 
thought  it  was  owing  to  our  quarrel,  but  I  was  mis- 
taken. He  came  to  me  when  I  was  alone  in  the  even- 
ing. I  had  been  busy  operating  all  day,  and  was  smok- 
ing contentedly,  lying  tired  on  my  bed. 

"  I  say,  old  fellow,"  he  began  diffidently. 

"  Yes,  Sonny,  what  is  it  ?" 

*'  I've  got  a  temperature  and  a  rotten  head,"  he 
murmured  gently. 

That  made  me  sit  up  quickly.  We  stared  at  one 
another. 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  219 

*'  Turn  in,"  I  said,  "  and  I'll  have  a  look  at  you." 

I  examined  him  carefully.  There  was  no  rash  as  yet 
but  he  was  very  drowsy.  Almost  before  I  could  finish 
examining  him,  he  was  asleep.  It  was  a  bad  sign.  Of 
course  there  was  a  faint  hope.  He  had  had  relapsing 
fever.  This  might  be  a  return,  but  I  doubted  it.  I 
looked  in  on  him  again  and  again,  during  the  night.  He 
was  still  sleeping. 

As  he  was  obviously  ill  I  took  on  his  duties,  and  made 
a  round  of  our  three  typhus  cases  in  the  quarters. 
Edwards  was  just  alive,  Martin  was  noisily  delirious. 
James,  our  Austrian,  was  one  huge  mottled  mass. 

Next  day  Sherlock  was  no  better.  He  complained  of 
excruciating  headache.  Obviously  he  was  very  ill. 
There  were  now  just  three  English  doctors  left  and  three 
orderlies.  Barclay  and  I  had  to  carry  on  the  surgery  of 
our  600  beds.  The  Little  Red  Woman  had  her  own 
medical  department.  Steve,  who  was  still  doing  that  of 
the  old  lady  doctor,  now  had  to  take  on  Sherlock's  work 
in  addition. 

Up  to  this  time  we  had  managed  to  keep  Sister 
Rowntree  away  from  the  typhus  cases.  She  had  joined 
our  unit,  as  I  have  mentioned,  before  the  plague  reached 
us,  and  we  had  kept  her  away  because  we  hated  to  let 
her  run  the  extra  risks. 

Now  she  got  out  of  hand,  and  insisted  on  nursing 
Sherlock. 

"  It's  mean  of  you  to  take  all  the  risks  yourselves," 
she  protested.  "I've  nursed  fevers  before,  I  shall  be 
all  right." 

"  You  haven't  nursed  typhus,"  I  said. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  answered  stubbornly,  "  I'm  going 
to  now." 

Of  course  we  yielded.  It  was  such  a  blessed  relief  to 
us  to  have  a  skilled,  trained  woman  to  rely  on.  Person- 
ally I  felt  very  guilty  about  it,  but  nursing  is  everything 
in  this  disease  and  I  wanted  the  little  man  to  live.  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  by  now  that  he  was  almost  cer- 


220  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

tainly  a  typhus.  The  Major  came  and  saw  him  and  was 
not  so  sure.  That  cheered  us  mightily.  But  we  took 
all  the  necessary  precautions  none  the  less. 

He  slept  most  of  the  morning.  In  the  afternoon  I 
found  him  awake.  He  asked  what  arrangements  I  had 
made,  and  how  Edwards  was.  When  I  told  him  Steve 
had  taken  on  for  him,  and  Edwards  was  still  alive,  he 
sighed  contentedly  and  fell  asleep  again.  He  must 
have  been  very  tired,  for  he  had  been  very  much  over- 
worked and  had  scarcely  slept  for  a  fortnight.  It  was 
almost  a  relief  to  him  to  get  the  disease,  and  to  be  able 
to  give  up  with  honour.  Late  at  night  I  saw  him  again. 
He  was  quite  wide  awake,  and  clear  in  his  mind. 

"  I  won't  keep  like  this  long,"  he  said  gently.  "  I 
want  you  to  look  after  my  affairs  in  case  I  slip  it." 

Then  quite  clearly  and  intelligently  he  gave  me  the 
various  addresses  he  wanted  me  to  write  to,  told  me 
what  financial  arrangements  to  make,  explained  where 
he  kept  certain  important  papers,  and,  satisfied  that  I 
understood,  turned  round  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

In  the  dead  of  night  Steve  called  me  hurriedly.  It 
was  Edwards.  He  was  in  extremis.  We  tried  all  the 
last  resources  of  medicine,  knowing  they  were  useless. 
Martin,  the  other  typhus  patient  in  the  gate-house,  kept 
following  our  movements  with  his  eyes,  but  all  the  time 
he  never  spoke.  How  much  he  understood  of  what  was 
going  on  I  never  learnt,  but  he  seemed  to  be  taking  it 
all  in  at  the  time. 

Steve  and  I  sat  silently  by  the  bedside  waiting  for  the 
end.     It  came  quite  slowly  and  peacefully. 

Neither  of  us  dare  look  at  one  another.  I  found 
myself  giving  directions  sharply  to  the  orderlies.  We 
had  kept  him  alive  17  days,  only  to  be  beaten  in  the 
end.  It  was  the  first  death  in  our  unit,  and  we  were 
all  much  affected. 

We  felt  we  could  not  leave  the  dead  body  with  the 
living  man,  and  so,  watching  till  Martin  was  dozing  off, 
we  carried  it  out  and  placed  it  in  one  of  the  tents  to 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  221 

keep  it  from  the  rain  till  morning.  Afterwards  nobody 
could  use  that  tent.  We  kept  it  therefore  as  a 
mortuary. 

When  we  came  in  to  breakfast  we  found  the  Chief 
back  from  Nish.  He  told  us  he  had  been  able  to  accom- 
plish nothing.  The  epidemic  was  spreading  all  over 
Serbia,  and  the  Sanitary  Department  seemed  paralysed 
by  the  extent  of  it.  Officially  there  were  said  to  be  a 
thousand  fresh  cases  daily.  No  mention  was  made  of 
the  daily  death  roll,  but  we  were  told  that  126  doctors 
had  now  died.  The  Austrian  prisoners  seemed  to  be 
suffering  most.  Of  2500  prisoners  in  Uskub,  1000  were 
already  dead.  Of  200  Austrian  bolnitchers,  sent  as 
orderlies  to  our  hospital  a  month  before,  only  50  were 
now  left. 

**  Personally  I  do  not  see  how  we  can  carry  on,'*  said 
the  Chief.  ''  We  cannot  get  any  of  these  Macedonian 
Serbs  to  act  as  orderlies  for  us.  They  do  not  want  to 
die,  and  I  do  not  blame  them.  The  War  Office  in  Nish 
has  again  offered  to  give  us  a  surgical  hospital  in  Bel- 
grade, and  suggested  closing  down  this  hospital.  I 
shall  have  to  think  about  it  very  carefully." 

My  little  Serl)ian  sestra  was  in  great  trouble  when  I 
got  to  the  hospital  that  morning.  Her  usual  smile  had 
deserted  her.  She  seemed  distraught.  When  I  asked 
what  was  wrong  she  told  me  her  little  daughter,  four 
years  old,  had  come  out  in  a  rash  on  the  previous  night. 
We  stared  at  one  another  silently. 

"  Teephoose  ?"  I  said. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  dejectedly.  "  Tee- 
phoose," she  agreed. 

I  promised  to  see  the  child  that  afternoon.  Steve 
came  with  me.  The  house  was  in  the  Turkish  quarter. 
A  doorway  in  a  blind  wall  led  into  a  small  entry,  with 
rooms  over  and  on  one  side  like  a  gate-house.  This 
was  the  men's  quarters  and  public  part  of  the  house. 
Behind  was  a  little  tiled  courtyard  with  a  fig  tree  and  a 


222  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

well.  At  the  back  of  this  was  the  women's  quarters, 
the  harem.  White- washed  stone  steps  led  to  a  little 
balcony  opening  on  to  a  square  reception  room,  with  a 
beautiful  old  brass  brazier  in  the  middle  of  a  floor 
covered  with  cocoanut  matting.  What  struck  me  par- 
ticularly, after  the  dirty  hospital  and  the  dirty  habits 
of  the  patients  in  it,  was  the  extreme  cleanliness  of 
the  house.  It  was  almost  like  a  Japanese  house  in  its 
scrupulous  neatness. 

The  child  was  brought  to  us  in  the  reception  room ; 
and  a  glance  showed  that  it  was  ordinary  chickenpox. 
The  relief  of  the  mother  was  extraordinary  when  I  told 
her.  She  seemed  to  think  almost  that  I  had  averted  the 
disease  by  diagnosing  something  different.  At  any  rate 
I  got  the  credit  for  it.  The  family  were  brought  in  and 
they  all  thanked  me  in  turn.  Then  followed  the  typical 
Serbian  ceremony  of  an  afternoon  call.  A  pot  of  jam 
was  brought  round,  with  two  spoons  and  two  glasses  of 
water.  Our  duty  was  each  to  take  a  spoonful  of  jam, 
eat  it,  take  a  sip  of  water,  and  then  drop  the  spoon 
into  the  glass.  It  is  the  Serbian  substitute  for  after- 
noon tea. 

When  we  got  back  to  hospital,  Steve  insisted  on 
getting  me  to  look  at  a  number  of  horrible  ulcerated 
throats  which  he  had  diagnosed  as  neglected  diphtheria. 

He  was  intensely  enthuiastic  about  them,  making  the 
patients  open  their  mouths  wide,  and  breathe  in  his  face 
while  he  flashed  a  light  down  their  throats.  They  were 
obviously  very  malignant  cases,  and  I  warned  him  not 
to  bend  so  closely  over  them.  Afterwards,  when  look- 
ing at  some  doubtful  typhus  cases,  I  had  again  to  warn 
him  of  the  careless  way  he  exposed  himself. 

"  If  you  don't  get  '  dip  '  and  t^^Dhus  too  I  shall  be 
surprised,"  I  said  crossly,  not  thinking  how  soon  my 
words  were  to  come  true. 

The  Serbian  authorities  had  decided  to  bury  oui 
orderly  with  full  military  honours,  so  on  the  Saturday 
morning  I  watched  the  beautiful  silver-gilt  coffin  bein^ 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  223 

soldered  down  in  the  compound.  Owing  to  the  deadly 
nature  of  the  disease,  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  had 
decided  not  to  hold  any  cathedral  service.  The  whole 
elal)orate  ritual  therefore  was  carried  out  in  the  com- 
pound, in  the  hearing  of  Sherlock  and  the  other  two 
typhus  patients. 

The  coffin  was  set  on  a  stand,  and  covered  with  the 
Union  Jack.     An  Ikon  was  placed  in  front,  and  long 
candles  all  round  the  coflin.     Four  priests  in  their  gor- 
geous robes  chanted  the  solemn  service  of  the  CI  reek 
Church,    swinging    silver    vases    filled    with    burning 
incense.     All  our  Staff,  the  Chiefs  of  the  Paget  Mission 
and  our  Serbian  Major,  the  British  Consul,  the  little 
Russian    lady    and    tlic    hospital    sestras    stooil    round 
holding  lighted  tapers.     It  was  like  a  scene  out  of  a 
mediaval  miracle  play.       Inside  the  gates,  lined  up  close 
to  Martin,  wlio  lay  in  bed  and  watched  them,  was  the 
military  band  composed  of  Austrian  prisoners,  and  a 
platoon  of  Serbian  soldiers  with  rifles  and  side-arms  who 
headed  the  procession  to  the  grave.     All  the  way — over 
a  mile — to  the  Christian  cemetery  the  band  played  the 
Dnly  tune  I  ever  heard  them  play — the  Serbian  Marchc 
Funebre.       We  tramped   miserably  behind   the  nmsic 
fhrough  the  nmd.     When  we  got  to  the  grave  we  found 
tt  was  not  more  than  half  dug.     It  gave  us  a  queer  sink- 
ng  feeling  to  stand  there  watching,  while  the  Tzigane 
rrave-diggers  dug  and  dug,  throwing  up  shovelfuls  of 
«d  earth.     It  seemed  such  an  unnecessary  way  of  piling 
m  the  agony. 

I  It  was  difficult  to  work  that  afternoon.  Our  men 
irere  all  very  much  affected  by  Edwards'  death.  They 
jid  their  dressings  in  a  half-hearted  way ;  and  none  of  us 
bit  like  hustling  them. 

The  Chief  had  decided  to  evacuate  our  quarters, 
uming  them  into  a  contagious  hospital  for  our  men. 
accordingly,  Barclay  and  I  moved  into  rooms  near 
iister  Rowntrce,  and  Steve  was  located  also  near  to 
he  hospital.     He,  however,  never  went  there.     That 


224  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

night  he  developed  a  throat.     I  looked  at  it  and  saw  the 
typical  commencing  membrane  of  a  diphtheria. 

"  You've  got  it,  old  son,"  I  said,  just  remembering 
not  to  add  "  I  told  you  so." 

Of  course  we  had  no  antitoxin.  We  wired  to  Nish  at 
once  for  some,  but  knowing  the  difficulties  besetting  the  11 
Serbian  Medical  Service  at  that  time,  we  hardly  ex- 
pected ever  to  see  the  stuff.  As  a  matter  of  fact  we 
never  did ;  but  by  a  stroke  of  luck  a  parcel  arrived  that 
very  evening  from  the  Pasteur  Institute  in  Paris  for  the 
Paget  Unit,  and  they  let  us  have  two  doses.  We 
plugged  it  into  him  that  evening,  and  next  day  moved 
him  to  a  tent  in  the  garden.  And  there  he  lay  quite 
happy  and  content. 

"  Guess,  now  I've  got  this,  I'm  clear  of  the  typhus 
stunt,"  he  said. 

"  Daresay,"  I  answered,  though  I  thought  it 
extremely  unlikely. 

We  were  now  reduced  to  two  medical  officers,  besides 
the  Chief  and  the  little  lady  doctor,  for  our  1200-bedded 
hospitals,  and  we  spent  Sunday  rearranging  our  duties. 
The  Chief  was  busy  with  official  work  and  we  could  not 
call  upon  him  for  routine  duty.  He  looked  after  his 
operation  cases  only.  The  Little  Woman,  Barclay  and 
I  therefore  shared  the  hospitals  between  us.  In  addi- 
tion, Barclay  looked  after  our  own  people,  with  Sister 
Rowntree  nursing  them.  As  we  had  already  cleared 
out  the  officers  from  the  quarters,  we  thought  it  best  to 
evacuate  our  men  also.  We  moved  them  therefore  next 
day  into  an  adjoining  hotel ;  and  immediately  after- 
wards the  trouble  began. 

One  of  the  men  started  a  temperature  the  first  night 
out,  and  had  to  be  brought  back.  Of  course  it  was 
doubtful  what  the  temperature  was  due  to.  It  might 
be  relapsing  fever  which  he  had  had  before,  or  it  might 
be  the  beginning  of  typhus.  We  could  not  diagnose  it 
microscopically,  and  so  had  to  treat  him  as  a  suspected 
typhus,  till  the  presence  or  absence  of  a  rash  on  the  fifth 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  225 

day  settled  it  for  us,  one  way  or  the  other.  He  could 
not,  naturally,  be  nursed  with  the  genuine  typhus  eases 
until  we  knew ;  and  so  we  had  again  to  rearrange  things 
in  the  quarters  for  him. 

It  was  a  staggering  blow  to  us,  this  new  case.  We 
were  morally  certain  it  was  typhus,  and  the  thought  of 
all  the  other  orderlies  being  contacts  was  most  dis- 
composing. 

By  now  we  were  pariahs.  People  began  to  steer  clear 
of  us  and  our  hospital.  Our  washerwoman,  a  gentle 
little  creature  who  had  looked  after  us  since  our  arrival, 
brought  the  laundry  one  day,  took  her  money,  and  dis- 
appeared without  waiting  for  the  soiled  linen.  We 
asked  no  questions,  knowing  the  reason.  Members  of 
the  Paget  Unit  were  instructed,  very  properly,  not  to 
visit  us.     It  hurt  us  none  the  less. 

Our  one  and  only  nurse.  Sister  Rowntree,  remained 
smiling  through  it  all.  She  looked  after  all  our  people — 
our  three  typhus,  one  diphtheria  and  the  doubtful  case. 

It  was  a  Sunday  afternoon  and  the  sun  came  out 
bringing  with  it  the  soft  warmth  and  the  unrest  of 
Spring.  Out  of  doors  everything  looked  so  beautiful 
and  peaceful.  Far  away  the  blue  snow-capped  moun- 
tains called  us  from  the  north-east.  We  had  come  back 
from  the  pestilent  atmosphere  of  the  hospital  to  lunch, 
for  we  still  kept  the  old  mess  room  in  the  quarters  next 
the  kitchen. 

The  Sister,  Barclay  and  I  sat  listlessly  after  our  un- 
appetising food. 

Suddenly  Barclay  said : 

"  Let's  get  a  carriage  and  go  for  a  drive  out  of  this 
until  tea-time.  Glazier,  the  orderly,  can  carry  on  till 
then." 

We  jumped  at  the  idea,  and  inside  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  we  were  driving  through  the  town,  making  for  the 
old  caravan  road  leading  to  Salonika  along  the  Vardar 
valley. 

On  the  way  we  passed  the  Polymesis,  now  a  veritable 
p 


226  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

pest  house,  crammed  to  overflowing  with  untreated 
cases.  The  Greek  doctor  had  died,  and  it  was  being  run 
by  a  Serbian,  helped  by  Austrian  prisoners.  Inside  the 
wire  fence  some  men,  pale,  weak  and  tottering,  were 
wandering  about  aimlessly  in  the  sunlight,  whether 
patients,  convalescents  or  orderlies  we  could  not 
tell.  All  seemied  to  be  mixed  equally  together. 
Some  of  them  stared  vacantly  at  us  as  we  passed. 

"  God,  what  an  awful  hole,"  said  Barclay,  shivering. 
"  It's  even  worse  than  ours." 

It  is  impossible  to  leave  Uskub  without  going  through 
one  or  more  of  those  queer  neglected-looking  graveyards 
so  characteristic  of  Turkish  cities.  One  lay  on  each  side 
of  the  road,  the  tombstones  projecting  like  jagged 
teeth  all  over  the  undulating  grassy  hillocks.  Beyond,  we 
came  to  a  flat  plain,  between  the  mountains,  stretching 
desolate,  on  either  side  the  river,  in  one  long  ribbon 
southwards  to  the  edge  of  the  horizon.  Not  a  house, 
not  a  sign  of  human  life  was  visible.  To  understand  the 
awful  desolation  of  Macedonia  outside  the  towns,  it  is 
necessary  to  go  there.  Life  has  been  so  unsafe  for 
centuries  that  no  one  cares  to  dwell  very  far  from  the 
protection  of  his  fellow  men,  and  so  the  peasantry 
huddle  into  little  villages  hidden  in  nooks  away  from  the 
main  road,  and  approached  only  by  devious  waggon 
tracks  or  bridle  paths.  Far  off  we  could  see  a  convoy 
coming  slowly  towards  us,  which,  on  nearer  approach, 
turned  out  to  be  some  twenty  waggon-loads  of  coarse 
green  hay  for  the  Command  at  Uskub.  From  the 
mountains,  rose-pink  in  the  evening  glow,  a  cold  wind 
swept  across  the  plain,  making  us  turn  up  the  collars  of 
our  heavy  military  overcoats  round  our  ears.  None  of 
the  three  of  us  talked.  We  all  knew  each  other  so  well, 
it  was  unnecessary.  At  length  we  turned  and  drove  j 
back,  arriving  at  the  mess  hungry  and  much  happier,  ' 
feeling  that  the  outlook  was  not  so  desolate  after  all. 
It  is  odd  how  many  of  one's  troubles  have  a  quite 
ordinary  physical  basis. 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  227 

*'  I  think  we  should  repeat  the  medicine  each  alter- 
nate day,"  said  Barclay.  "  Now  I'm  going  to  give 
Steve  another  squirt  of  antitoxin.  He  asked  for  his 
rifle  to-day,  so  he  must  be  better." 

Next  day  another  of  our  men  went  down.  It  was  the 
"  Sergeant  "  this  time,  and  I  was  very  distressed,  as  I 
liked  him,  and  knew  his  power  of  resistance  was  poor. 

I  had  no  orderlies  left  now  for  the  hospital.  Such  as 
were  still  unaffected  were  looking  after  our  own  men 
under  the  direction  of  Barclay  and  the  Sister. 

The  Little  Woman  and  I  were,  therefore,  each  single- 
handed.  We  decided  that  she  should  stick  to  the 
medical  side,  and  I  should  take  over  all  the  surgical 
dressings.  We  had  practically  stopped  operating  now. 
There  was  no  one  to  work  the  theatre.  We  had  no 
anaesthetist.  The  Sister  was  gone.  The  orderly  was 
gone.  We  had  taken  John,  our  Austrian  theatre 
orderly,  into  the  quarters.  I  think  he  liked  it  better 
than  holding  the  amputation  stumps.  We  had  also 
turned  the  gaunt  Austrian  widow,  who  did  the  theatre 
washing,  into  our  laundress,  since  our  own  little  woman 
had  deserted  us.  The  glory  of  our  theatre  was  now  a 
thing  of  the  past.  Even  if  we  could  have  operated,  it 
seemed  useless.  Every  day  when  I  was  dressing  recent 
cases,  I  found  three  or  four  with  the  rash  on  them ;  and, 
indeed,  with  our  depleted  staff  any  elaborate  operation 
was  oiit  of  the  question.  When  a  bad  secondary 
haemorrhage  occurred,  I  just  tied  the  artery  on  the 
dressing  table  in  the  hospital  under  cocaine,  or  plugged 
the  wound  after  a  free  incision. 

The  Little  Red  Woman  and  I  met  only  at  the  end  of 
the  long  day.  She  was  very  depressed,  but  seemed  to 
think  she  must  be  practically  immune  to  the  disease,  as 
she  had  been  more  exposed  even  than  Sherlock. 

After  tea  one  afternoon  the  Chief  came  round  to  my 
new  quarters.  He  had  decided  to  go  to  Nish  again,  to 
see  if  by  any  means  he  could  stir  up  the  Serbian  Govern- 


228  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

ment  to  take  some  sort  of  concerted  action  to  check  the 
epidemic  in  our  area. 

"  In  case  anything  happens  to  me  I  want  you  to  take 
charge  of  the  affairs  of  the  unit,"  he  said.  "  There's  a 
certain  sum  of  gold  in  the  Consul's  hands,  and  I'll  hand 
you  all  the  papers.  If  you  decide  to  clear  out,  do  so. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  the  best  thing  we  could  do.  This 
epidemic  is  too  vast  for  individual  efforts  like  ours." 

Our  patients  in  the  quarters  were  all  much  worse  that 
night.  The  "  Sergeant,"  Newton,  and  Holt  were  all 
delirious.  Only  James,  our  Austrian  interpreter,  was 
distinctly  better.  Sherlock  was  extraordinary  hyper- 
sensitive to  sound.  We  were  talking  in  the  mess  room 
after  dinner,  quite  away  from  where  he  lay  in  the  dor- 
mitory opposite,  but  we  had  to  stop  because  he  com- 
plained so  bitterly  of  the  noise  we  were  making.  After- 
wards, when  I  questioned  him,  he  had  no  recollection  of 
this  state.  Later  we  looked  upon  it  as  a  good  sign,  for, 
on  my  attention  being  drawn  to  it,  I  noticed  that  it  was 
a  common  symptom  in  the  second  week,  especially 
amongst  the  cases  that  ultimately  recovered,  just  as  a 
sudden  frequency  of  nose  bleeding  in  the  hospital  made 
me  discover  that  one  could  often  thus  diagnose  typhus 
three  days  before  the  rash  appeared — a  very  valuable 
help  under  the  circumstances. 

The  Chief  did  not  go  to  Nish  after  all  that  night.  I 
had  discovered  twenty-two  fresh  cases  in  my  ward  that 
day,  and  this  stirred  the  officials  at  last  to  close  the 
medical  side  of  our  hospital,  and  give  orders  that  no 
fresh  cases  should  be  admitted.  When  the  Serb  acts  he 
acts  rapidly.  In  the  morning  when  I  got  to  the  hos- 
pital they  had  evacuated  eight  hundred  men  before  nine 
o'clock.  I  was  thus  left  with  some  two  hundred  and 
fifty  surgical  beds  only,  mostly  compound  fractures  and 
other  serious  cases  that  could  not  easily  be  moved.  It 
made  me  feel  quite  idle. 

The  assistant  cook  at  our  mess  was  an  Austrian 
prisoner.      When  I  came  in  at  lunch  I  found  he  had 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  229 

developed  fever.  That  put  us  into  a  most  awkward  fix 
over  our  kitchen  staff.  We  got  them  all  out  under 
canvas  in  the  back  garden  before  tea-time.  But  what 
to  do  with  the  man  was  a  puzzle.  He  begged  so  piti- 
fully not  to  be  sent  to  the  Polymesis,  that  eventually  we 
allowed  him  to  betake  himself  to  the  hayloft  at  the  end 
of  the  garden ;  and  there  he  lay,  fed  by  Anthony  our 
mess  man,  and  visited  by  Barclay,  who  climbed  up  the 
ladder  once  a  day  to  ask  him  how  he  was.  It  seemed  a 
callous  way  of  treating  a  man,  but  it  was  better  than 
the  hospital,  for  at  any  rate  he  was  fed,  and  he  kept 
warm  in  the  hay.  Probably  had  he  gone  to  the  hos- 
pital he  would  have  been  allowed  to  die  of  hunger.  As 
it  happened  he  got  quite  well,  and,  curiously  enough, 
was  most  intensely  grateful  afterwards. 

Three  doctors,  an  Austrian,  a  Serb,  and  a  Greek,  had 
died  of  typhus  the  previous  day,  so  three  separate  times 
we  heard  the  solemn  dead  march  as  the  funeral  slowly 
passed  our  quarters  that  afternoon.  It  had  got  on  our 
nerves  by  now. 

"  I  wish  to  God,"  said  Barclay,  "  they  wouldn't. 
Lord  knows  it's  bad  enough  as  it  is,  without  these  con- 
stant dismal  reminders." 

He  and  I  had  found  most  comfortable  quarters  in  a 
widow's  house  near  the  hospital.  It  was  a  low- 
ceilinged  room  on  the  ground  floor,  with  the  usual  wood 
stove  at  one  side,  and  two  windows  looking  out  into  a 
yard  behind,  where  all  the  cats  of  the  neighbourhood 
seemed  to  congregate  at  night.  The  old  lady  was  very 
kind  to  us,  but  we  were  a  great  worry  to  her.  The 
little  low  room,  when  the  stove  was  going  for  half  an 
hour,  used  to  get  unbearably  stuffy.  Every  time  we 
went  in  we  opened  the  windows,  and  all  the  while  we 
were  there  we  kept  them  open.  But  every  time  we 
came  back  we  found  them  closed  again.  The  dear  old 
lady  could  not  understand  our  foolishness.  She  was  for 
ever  guarding  us  against  ourselves.  There  was  a  little 
Ikon  of  St.  George  over  my  bed,  before  which  a  light 


280  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

burned  night  and  day.  She  kept  it  Ht  to  guard  us  from 
evil,  for  were  we  not  risking  our  lives  for  her  country. 
But  the  draught  from  the  open  window  kept  blowing  it 
out,  and  the  powers  of  evil  thus  again  got  possession 
of  the  room  and  worked  us  harm,  especially  in  the  night 
watches  when  Satan  held  sway  as  the  Prince  of 
Darkness. 

Having  been  deprived  of  three-quarters  of  my 
patients,  I  was  sitting  in  the  dusk,  having  a  quiet  smoke 
with  Barclay,  just  before  dinner,  when  the  Chief 
knocked  and  came  in. 

"  I  am  going  to  Nish  to-night,"  he  said.  "  I'd  like 
you  to  come  with  nue  if  you  would.  The  lady  doctor 
can  carry  on  easily  now  till  you  come  back.  The  train 
starts  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  so  if  you  want  to  come 
you'll  have  to  hustle." 

I  did  hustle.  We  got  to  the  station  at  seven  o'clock. 
No  signs  of  any  train.  At  seven-thirty  things  were  just 
the  same.  A  number  of  distinguished  officials  were 
walking  up  and  down  the  platform  ;  and  we  then  learned 
that  a  large  English  unit  was  on  its  way  through  to 
Krushevatz  that  evening.  Apparently  this  had  delayed 
the  train ;  and  we  were  told  that  it  might  be  two  hours 
late,  and  certainly  would  be  very  crowded  when  it  did 
come.  That  set  us  thinking.  We  got  a  wire  through 
to  Veles  (Kuprulu),  asking  them  to  reserve  a  compart- 
ment for  us.  Then  we  tackled  the  station  restaurant 
menu,  as  no  food  would  be  procurable  on  the  train  dur- 
ing the  entire  twelve  hours'  journey  before  us. 

Word  came  through  presently  that  they  could  let  us 
have  a  coupe,  and  we  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Travelling  as  officials  has  certain  advantages,"  said 
the  Chief,  sagely.  "  I  asked  for  a  compartment,  so  they 
made  an  effort  and  got  us  a  coupe.  If  I'd  asked  for  a 
coupe  they'd  probably  have  put  us  off  with  seats  in  a 
compartmient." 

"  I  wonder  whom  they've  turned  out  for  us,"  I  said. 
"  Probably  some  unfortunate  civilian.     Nobody  out  of 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  231 

uniform  seems  to  have  a  dog's  earthly  m  this  benighted 
country  at  present." 

*'  Oh,  well,  it's  war  time,"  murmured  the  Chief  com- 
fortably. 

Eventually  the  train  came  in,  and  we  watched  a 
number  of  very  tired  nurses  and  doctors  in  Red  Cross 
uniform  get  out  to  stretch  their  stiff  limbs,  and  drink 
hot  coffee  during  the  half-hour  wait.  Remembering 
how  tired  we  were  ourselves  after  the  journey  from 
Salonika,  knowing  they  had  a  further  long  wearisome 
night  before  them,  and  that  we  should  see  themi  at 
Nish,  we  did  not  bother  them  by  conversation. 
Instead  we  found  our  coupe,  got  our  kit  into  it,  and 
prepared  to  make  ourselves  as  comfortable  as  possible 
for  the  night. 

In  the  morning  we  all  met  at  Nish  Station.  It  was 
the  Royal  Free  Hospital  Unit,  under  Mr  James  Berry. 
I  introduced  our  Chief  to  him,  and  then  went  round 
talking  to  the  members  of  the  unit. 

To  listen  to  their  enthusiastic  talk,  their  optimism, 
their  plans  for  getting  to  work  quickly  and  usefully, 
made  me  feel  very  old  and  tired.  They  evidently  were 
under  the  delusion  that  there  was  lots  of  surgery  to  do, 
and  lots  of  fresh  wounded  coming  in  daily.  I  told  them 
of  the  total  cessation  of  fighting,  and  the  consequent 
lack  of  surgical  work.  I  explained  that  the  country  was 
in  the  grip  of  a  most  horrible  epidemic,  and  that  every 
nurse  and  every  possible  medical  comfort  should  be 
diverted  at  once  to  combating  it.  They  were  very 
polite  to  me,  but  I  could  see  they  did  not  grasp  it. 

"  But  we're  a  surgical  unit.  We  came  to  do  sur- 
gery," one  of  them  said,  as  if  that  settled  it. 

"  Of  course  we  are  prepared  to  do  anything,  but 
essentially  we  are  a  surgical  unit,"  another  added  more 
pliantly. 

What  was  the  matter  with  them  was  that  they  were 
two  months  behind  the  times.  Typhus  had  started  a 
little  before  they  left  England,  but  the  censorship  had 


232  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

been  so  rigid  nothing  about  it  had  been  allowed  through. 
Consequently  they  had  arrived  to  quite  unexpected 
conditions. 

I  saw  that  it  would  take  at  least  a  month  for  the 
state  of  affairs  to  sink  into  their  minds.  Then,  I  knew 
Mr  Berry  could  be  depended  on  to  help  in  every  possible 
way. 

The  Chief  had  already  been  in  Nish,  and  knew  his  way 
about. 

"It  is  almost  impossible  to  get  rooms,"  he  said. 
"  The  town  has  had  four  times  its  normal  population 
since  it  was  made  the  capital,  after  the  evacuation  of 
Belgrade.  We*ll  try  the  '  Ruski  Tzar  Hotel  '  first,  and 
if  we  cannot  get  rooms  there,  we'll  go  to  the  Command 
and  let  them  turn  someone  out  for  us." 

Nish  is  a  miserable  town  of  low-built  houses,  with 
wide,  very  badly  paved  streets,  and  a  few  large  empty 
squares  in  which  markets  are  held.  We  found  a  fiacre 
and  bumped  and  rattled  to  the  "  Ruski  Tzar,"  a  third- 
rate  hotel  kept  by  some  Austrian  Jews.  They  told  us 
there  were  no  rooms  to  be  had.  The  Chief,  however, 
knew  the  lie  of  the  hotel,  and  made  his  way  upstairs 
to  the  room  of  a  Serb  friend  of  his  named  Petrovitch, 
knowing  that  he  would  not  object  to  our  washing  off  the 
dust  of  the  journey  in  it.  There  we  camie  across  Anna. 
Anna  was  the  chambermaid — a  gargoyle  for  ugliness, 
but  an  extraordinarily  helpful  person.  I  hesitate  to 
say  how  many  languages  she  spoke,  but  English  was  not 
one  of  them.  A  little  bad  German  and  many  gestures, 
combined  with  her  bright  intelligence,  however,  soon 
got  us  all  we  wanted.  Afterwards  came  breakfast,  and 
then  a  call  on  the  British  Minister,  who  was  camping 
temporarily  with  his  Staff  in  the  Consulate,  and  very 
much  hampered  for  space  in  consequence.  We  ex- 
plained carefully  to  him  all  we  knew  about  the  epi- 
demic, and  asked  him  to  help  us  to  get  in  touch  with  the 
Prime  Minister,  M.  Pasitch,  and  the  Head  of  the  Sani- 
tary Department,  if  such  a  thing  existed  in  the  country. 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  233 

It  was  obvious  that  there  was  already  considerable 
perturbation  in  the  official  world,  for  the  machinery 
worked  so  rapidly  that  we  were  promised  an  interview 
next  morning.  One  high  personage  in  court  circles,  it 
was  whispered,  had  caught  the  contagion,  and  people 
were  beginning  to  get  panicky. 

Newspaper  articles  had  begun  to  appear  about  it, 
and  experts  stated  that  powdered  naphthaline  dusted  in 
the  garments  was  an  almost  certain  preventative.  A 
little  lame  Serb,  who  talked  most  excellent  English, 
introduced  himself  during  lunch  at  the  '*  Ruski  Tzar," 
and  asked  me  questions  about  English  ideas  of  treat- 
ment, explaining  that  he  was  the  Nish  correspondent 
of  the  Daily  Mail. 

Wandering  about  in  the  afternoon  sun,  Nish  grew 
upon  me.  It  was  full  of  the  bustling  cosmopolitan 
crowd  of  a  capital.  Officers  in  resplendent  uniform 
were  everywhere,  driving  in  carriages,  walking  in  the 
streets,  sitting  in  the  cafes.  The  only  signs  of  war  were 
the  frequent  display  of  black  flags  hung  from  the  win- 
dows of  private  houses,  denoting  a  death  in  the  family, 
and  the  depressing  number  of  black-robed  young 
widows  about. 

I  searched  the  shops  for  an  English-Serbian  grammar 
for  the  Little  Red  Woman,  but  the  best  I  could  get  was 
a  French-Serbian  dictionary.  In  Belgrade  "  Yes  "  they 
told  me,  but  in  Nish  "  No."  Only  necessary  things 
could  be  got  in  Nish,  and  they  were  at  three  times  the 
ordinary  prices. 

Nish  was  a  Turkish  town  until  1876 ;  but  one  mosque 
and  the  old  Turkish  fortress  that  used  to  overawe  the 
place  are  all  that  now  remain  to  mark  the  Turkish  occu- 
pation— these,  and  one  grim  monument  of  heroic  fame  : 
the  "  Pyramid  of  Skulls." 

I  drove  out  to  see  the  Pyramid  that  afternoon.  In 
its  way  it  is  unique  as  a  specimien  of  savage  horror  in 
Europe.  Such  a  thing  could  be  found  only  in  the 
Balkans.     It  is  a  mound  made  of  heads  stuck  in  cement, 


284  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

the  heads  of  some  hundreds  of  Serbian  patriots,  lopped 
off  by  the  vengeful  Turk  after  an  abortive  rising.  Most 
of  the  heads  are  now  gone,  picked  out  by  wind  and  rain, 
or  stolen  by  reverent  hands  for  Christian  burial.  Over 
the  rest  a  dome,  surmounted  by  a  cross,  now  stands, 
and  the  place  is  sacred  to  the  souls  of  those  that  remain. 
May  they  sleep  in  peace. 

The  river  Nishava,  crossed  by  a  suspension  bridge, 
separates  the  town  from  the  fortress.  A  moat,  which 
can  readily  be  filled  from  the  river,  runs  round  it.  I 
crossed  the  bridge  and  walked  through  the  ancient  gate 
of  the  fortress  without  challenge.  Inside  I  found  it  was 
an  extensive  open  place  with  several  barracks,  ordnance 
stores  and  big  parade  grounds.  A  number  of  the 
"  Berry  Unit  "  who  had  come  up  in  the  train  with  us 
were  sight-seeing.  What  struck  me  miost  was  the  con- 
vict prison,  with  the  men,  dressed  in  a  peculiar  fawn- 
coloured  costume,  walking  about  in  leg-irons,  for  the 
last  time  I  had  seen  men  in  irons  was  when  I  watched 
a  Chinese  chain-gang  working  on  the  roads  outside 
Batavia  in  the  Dutch  East  Indies. 

Part  of  our  business  was  to  get  in  touch  with  the 
President  of  the  Serbian  Red  Cross  Society ;  and  so  we 
crossed  the  river  and  drove  along  a  half-made  road  to 
the  building  set  apart  for  the  Society,  a  little  beyond  the 
fortress.  Here  we  made  the  acquaintance  of  Doctor 
Lecco,  the  head  of  the  Society,  and  his  secretary,  a  dis- 
tinguished-looking man  in  the  mediaeval  costume  of  a 
priest  of  the  Orthodox  Church.  Doctor  Lecco  himself 
was  a  benevolent  elderly  gentleman  with  a  snow-white 
patriarchal  beard.  He  reminded  me  remarkably  of  the 
Prime  Minister,  M.  Pasitch,  the  Grand  Old  Man  of 
Serbia,  who  guided  the  country  so  nobly  in  its  one-sided 
struggle  with  its  colossal  neighbour,  Austria.  We 
found  Doctor  Lecco  extremely  sympathetic  to  our 
suggestions.  He  put  the  entire  resources  of  his  Society 
at  our  disposal,  and  seemed  to  have  nothing  else  in  his 
mind  than  to  help  us.     We  learnt  afterwards,  however, 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  235 

that  one  of  his  own  sons  was  dangerously  ill  with  typhus 
at  the  time,  and,  all  the  while  he  was  being  so  kind  to  us, 
he  was  waiting  for  the  telegram  that  might  announce 
his  death.  But  nothing  of  this  showed  in  his  conver- 
sation with  us.  Indeed,  his  main  anxiety  seemed  to  be 
to  assure  himself  that  we  could  get  rooms  for  the  night. 
He  telephoned  through  to  the  head  of  the  Army  Medical 
Department,  and  himself  drove  us  back  in  his  carriage 
to  the  office  of  Colonel  Karonovitch,  head  of  the  Depart- 
ment, to  make  sure  that  we  should  be  attended  to. 
With  the  independence  of  the  Britisher,  however,  we 
thought  we  would  try  ourselves  before  going  to  the 
Command,  and  got  hold  of  the  omniscient  Ivan,  kavass 
at  the  Embassy,  to  help  us.  I  think  we  must  have 
spent  a  couple  of  hours  running  round ;  but  everywhere 
we  were  met  with  the  same  story  ''  no  rooms,  filled  up 
for  weeks  ahead."  Meanwhile,  however,  the  Command 
had  been  looking  after  us,  confident  we  should  fail ;  and 
when  we  were  thoroughly  tired  out,  it  was  a  correspond- 
ing relief  to  find  that  they  had  secured  a  bedroom  for 
us  at  the  "  Kuski  Tzar  ' '  itself.  Our  kit  bags  were 
already  there,  and  so  it  was  simply  a  matter  of  handing 
them  over  to  Anna.  We  did  so  with  thankful  hearts 
and  tired  bones.  Then  we  went  down  to  dinner.  See- 
ing a  small  convenient  table  unoccupied,  we  commian- 
deered  it  at  once.  It  was  lucky  we  did,  as  the 
restaurant  filled  rapidly  soon  after,  and  there  did  not 
seem  to  be  a  single  vacant  seat  all  the  rest  of  the  even- 
ing. Immediately  after  we  had  taken  the  table,  two  fat 
Cireeks  came  in,  scowled  furiously  at  us  and  went  away. 
Afterwards  we  learned  that  these  were  the  two  unfor- 
tunate people  who  had  been  turned  out  of  their  room  for 
us  at  a  moment's  notice,  though  they  had  been  staying 
in  the  hotel  for  months.  They  had  been  scrimmaging 
round  for  two  or  three  hours  in  a  vain  attempt  to  find 
other  accommodation;  and  now,  when  they  did  return, 
ruffled  and  hungry,  it  must  have  been  most  exasperat- 
ing to  find  that  the  very  people  who  had  turned  them 


286  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

out  had  also  seized  the  specially  favourite  table  they 
had  been  accustomed  to  reserve  for  themselves.  The 
little  Serb  correspondent  of  the  Daily  Mail,  who  told  us, 
was  wickedly  delighted.  It  seemed  to  give  him 
exquisite  joy  that  we  had  been  unconscious  all  the  time 
how  badly  we  had  upset  them.  Greeks  were  not 
popular  just  then  in  Serbia.  They  became  even  less 
so  later. 

The  "  Ruski  Tzar  "  in  England  would  be  considered 
a  low-class  hostelry.  It  was  a  queer  mixture  of  cafe, 
beer  hall  and  inn.  To  get  to  one's  quarters  one  had  to 
go  into  a  central  courtyard,  and  climb  by  a  stone  stair- 
case to  the  bedrooms  above.  The  rooms  themselves 
were  passably  clean,  with  uneven  whitewashed  walls, 
brick  floors  and  a  few  rugs.  The  beds  were  covered 
with  the  inevitable  thick  padded  quilts  beloved  of  all 
Balkan  people.  The  lighting  was  by  candle,  and  the 
sanitary  accommodation  unspeakable. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  the  best  hotel  in  Serbia  outside 
Belgrade,  and  all  the  wit  and  fashion  assembled  there 
for  dinner  at  night.  The  Austrian  proprietor  always 
looked  as  if  he  expected  to  be  shot  at  dawn,  but,  in  the 
mieanwhile,  he  was  doing  a  roaring  business.  It  must 
be  said  in  his  favour  that  he  kept  an  excellent  chef. 
The  food  was  extremely  good.  We  enjoyed  a  first-class 
dinner;  and  amused  ourselves  watching  Serb  officers  in 
gold  and  red,  with  their  wives  and  children,  dining 
alongside  N.C.O.'s  and  even  privates  in  democratic 
equality.  Most  of  the  Diplomatic  Corps  dined  there 
also,  and  the  accredited  representatives  of  the  Paris  and 
London  newspapers.  In  spite  of  the  dingy  surround- 
ings it  was  a  very  gaily  decorated  company,  for  the 
undress  uniform  of  the  Serbian  officer,  though  service- 
able, is  a  very  gorgeous,  very  well-fitting  affair  com- 
pared with  our  own  drab  khaki.  Here  and  there  we 
could  see  an  unmistakably  English  or  American  face — 
mostly  engineers,  and  oil  managers  coming  from  Russia 
via  Roumania,  who  had  had  to  break  their  journey  at 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  237 

Nish  to  catch  the  connection  in  the  morning  for 
Salonika. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  dinner  was  over,  and  people  began 
to  depart.  Amongst  these  were  three  English  nurses, 
all  looking  very  tired,  very  overworked.  I  had  a  parcel 
for  one  of  them,  and,  this  serving  as  an  introduction, 
they  asked  us  to  call  on  them  at  their  hospital  in  the 
morning.  When  they  had  gone,  we  noticed  that  a  con- 
siderable number  of  people  kept  their  seats,  and  fresh 
arrivals  began  to  come  in.  Then  we  discovered  the 
reason  for  the  large  white  screen  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  restaurant.  The  cinematograph  show  was  about  to 
commence,  and  those  who  remained  had  to  pay  a  dinar 
(franc)  extra  for  the  privilege.  The  pictures  were 
almost  all  of  German  origin,  either  broad  farces  or 
saccharine  love  scenes.  It  was  odd,  when  I  thought  of 
it  afterwards,  to  watch  the  Serb  audience  being  amused, 
thrilled,  melted  by  the  pictured  joys,  sorrows  and  loves 
of  their  most  inveterate  enemy.  Human  nature  is  the 
same  the  wide  world  over,  and  no  one,  not  even  I,  felt 
the  incongruity  at  the  time. 

Long  before  the  show  was  over  we  retired.  We  were 
very  weary,  and  there  was  a  lengthy  programme  before 
us  on  the  morrow.  In  bed,  however,  I  found  I  was  too 
tired  even  for  sleep.  So  I  relit  the  candle  belonging  to 
my  field  pannier,  and  picked  a  book  out  of  my  haver- 
sack. It  was  the  Religio  Medici,  one  of  the  few  books 
I  carried  with  me  constantly.  Reading  aloud,  softly  to 
myself,  the  sonorous  prose  of  the  Norwich  physician,  I 
gradually  grew  less  and  less  conscious  of  my  surround- 
ings, of  my  weariness,  of  myself.  Then  came  sleep  with 
soft  grey  wings  wooing  irresistibly,  and  after  that 
oblivion  until  a  sharp  tapping  on  my  door,  the 
smiling  face  of  Anna  with  my  breakfast  on  a  tray,  and 
a  hasty  glance  at  my  watch  made  me  realise  that 
another  day  was  already  past  its  first  innocence. 

The  hospital  where  the  English  nurses  worked  was 
close  to  the  railway  station.     I  took  a  fiacre  and  rattled 


238  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

over  the  uneven  cobbles  of  Nish,  past  columns  of  ox- 
waggons  bringing  in  provender,  through  streets  of  low- 
built  houses  destitute  of  paint.  There  were  Serb 
peasant  soldiers  everywhere  in  their  rough  homiespun, 
with  rifles  and  bandoliers.  They  wore  the  curious 
sandals  (tsepelle),  with  spiral  straps  of  leather  wound 
round  the  leg  over  gaudily-embroidered  charapa  (socks), 
which  were  drawn  up  over  the  lower  end  of  the  narrow 
wrinkled  trousers  in  the  manner  characteristic  of 
Northern  Serbia.  I  had  seen  these  tsepelle  frequently 
on  our  patients  from  the  north,  but  could  not  obtain 
them  in  Uskub,  as  this  mode  is  not  the  fashion  in  Mace- 
donia. Here,  however,  one  could  buy  them  in  every 
leather  shop,  and  I  stopped  and  procured  a  pair  for  my 
own  use  on  the  way  to  the  hospital. 

The  hospital  itself  was  an  imposing  municipal  build- 
ing, hastily  altered  for  the  accommodation  of  between 
one  thousand  and  sixteen  hundred  patients.  It  was 
literally  swarming  with  unkempt,  unwashed  individuals 
in  ragged  uniforms,  wandering  about  apparently  with- 
out check,  although  a  sentry  with  fixed  bayonet  stood 
without  the  entrance.  Along  the  corridor  the  patients 
lay  on  mattresses  on  the  floor,  in  the  manner  to  which 
we  were  now  so  thoroughly  accustomed.  The  place 
smelt  elusively  familiar.  It  was  the  same  unspeakably 
stuffy  atmosphere  as  our  Uskub  hospital. 

Following  in  the  wake  of  some  bandaged  figures,  I 
arrived  at  the  dressing  room  on  the  ground  floor,  and 
there  found  the  three  English  nurses.  There  were  four 
operating  tables  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  benches 
round  the  sides.  The  tables,  the  benches,  and  the 
spaces  between  were  all  occupied,  and  more  than  occu- 
pied by  a  continually  shifting  mass  of  wounded,  who 
were  looked  at,  dressed,  and  passed  out  as  rapidly  as 
possible  to  make  way  for  the  seemingly  endless  queue  of 
maimed,  awaiting  stolidly  and  very  patiently  their  turn. 
Two  Greek  doctors  and  the  three  English  nurses  were 
looking  after  these  dressings.     The  women  seemed  very 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  239 

worn  and  tired,  even  at  that  early  hour  of  the  morning. 
Little  wonder — they  had  been  working  in  the  same 
awful  atmosphere  for  months,  each  day,  every  day,  with 
never  an  open  window. 

Everyone  was  busy  when  I  entered,  and  I  stood 
quietly  watching  till  one  of  the  nurses  saw  me  and 
smdled  wanly.  The  two  doctors  were  examining  a  case 
of  septic  gunshot  wound  in  the  arm — a  quite  ordinary 
case,  one  of  thousands — very  carefully. 

"  Why  ?"  I  said  to  the  nurse. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  Probably  it's  a 
typhus.  There  are  usually  four  or  five  every 
morning." 

''  But  the  Director  of  the  Medical  Services  assured  us, 
last  night,  there  were  no  cases  of  typhus  in  Nish  at 
present." 

"  Oh  yes  !  Of  course  not !  But  all  the  same  there 
are  six  hundred  in  this  hospital  at  the  present  moment," 
she  remarked.  "  We're  not  supposed  to  know.  I'll 
show  you  where  they  are.  You  look  round  casually  for 
yourself.  The  Government  is  afraid  of  a  panic  if  the 
truth  were  known,  so  they're  labelled  influenza.  As 
it  is  people  are  very  uneasy  already.  One  doctor  has 
died  here.  A  Russian  nurse  who  was  with  us  has  died. 
They  took  her  away  and  nursed  her  with  male  orderlies. 
There  were  no  sestras,  and  we  were  not  told  till 
she  was  dead.  It  isn't  anybody's  fault,"  she  said 
listlessly. 

Altogether  it  was  a  most  depressing  morning.  I 
verified  the  statement  that  the  place  was  full  of  typhus. 
Two  of  the  nurses,  I  found,  were  leaving  the  next  day 
for  England,  physically  worn  out,  beaten  in  spirit.  The 
remaining  one  said  good-bye  to  me. 

"  Come  and  see  me,  if  you  are  ever  here  again.  Re- 
member I  shall  be  all  alone,"  she  said  simply. 

"  Why  not  go  back  with  the  others  ?"  I  queried. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  go  back  for,"  she  answered, 
dully. 


240  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said.  It  was  the  drab, 
grey  tragedy  of  the  unwanted  woman.  She  was  fat  and 
plain,  elderly  and  rather  pasty.  Personally  I  did  not 
take  to  her.  She  was  just  a  piece  of  flotsam  on  the  tide 
of  life ;  but  she  was  an  Englishwoman,  and  the  thought 
of  her  made  me  feel  wretched  all  day.  I  could  hear  her 
saying  "  Remember  I  shall  be  all  alone."  It  was  hor- 
rible. I  hated  her  for  making  me  miserable.  I  worried 
the  Chief  about  her  that  evening. 

"  We'll  have  to  try  and  do  something  to  rescue  her," 
I  said  grumpily. 

"  Aye.  If  we  don't  she's  sure  to  die,"  he  answered 
slowly.  "  I  saw  her  last  time  I  was  here,  and  I've  been 
wondering  if  she'd  be  any  use  to  us.  She's  not  a 
trained  nurse,  you  know." 

It  had  been  arranged  that  we  were  to  go  on  to  Bel- 
grade that  night,  and  look  at  the  site  of  the  new  hos- 
pital it  was  proposed  we  should  occupy.  The  idea, 
however,  did  not  please  us.  It  looked  as  though  the 
Serbs  thought  we  wanted  to  run  away  from  Uskub. 
That  made  us  squirrai.  We  felt,  moreover,  that  with 
our  depleted  staff  we  could  not  start  such  a  fresh  under- 
taking with  any  prospect  of  success.  When  we  learnt, 
in  addition,  that  they  proposed  evacuating  our  two 
hundred  and  fifty  compound  fractures,  all  already 
typhus  contacts,  to  Belgrade  to  the  new  hospital,  we 
were  dumbfounded. 

"  That  puts  the  lid  on  it,"  I  said  to  the  Chief.  "We'd 
infect  the  whole  of  Belgrade  with  them,  if  we  went." 

"It's  too  hopeless,"  he  answered  dully. 

Things  brightened,  however,  after  lunch. 

We  had  an  interview  with  the  Prime  Minister, 
M.  Pasitch,  and  knew  at  once  we  had  come  in  contact 
with  a  live  man.  With  his  fine  eyes  looking  from  his 
benevolent  old  face,  he  listened  to  our  exposition  of  the 
case,  presented  with  the  help  of  the  British  Minister  and 
his  first  Secretary.  Once  he  had  grasped  it,  things 
began  to  move.     It  was  arranged  that  a  commission  of 


THE  SHADOWS  DEEPEN  241 

three  should  be  appointed  in  Uskub,  consisting  of  the 
P.M.O.,  our  Major  and  the  Chief.  They  were  to  have 
plenary  powers.  The  town  was  practically  to  be  given 
over  to  them,  and  all  arrangements  made  were  to  be 
accepted  as  orders. 

Somehow  after  the  interview  the  horizon  seemed  to 
have  lightened  all  round.  We  felt  that  we  were  no 
longer  butting  against  the  deadly  inertia,  the  passive 
resistance  of  the  provincial  authorities  of  Southern 
Serbia.  The  Government  was  now  behind  us ;  the 
prospect  of  an  immediate  improvement  seemed  rosy ; 
and  we  decided,  therefore,  that  the  Belgrade  scheme 
should  be  refused  definitely,  in  order  that  we  might 
concentrate  on  our  own  area. 

Both  of  us,  I  think,  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  we 
arrived  at  this  decision.  An  irritable  desire  to  leave 
Nish  took  possession  of  us.  We  wanted  to  get  home. 
The  idea  of  journeying  three  days  to  Belgrade  in  hor- 
ribly infected  trains  did  not  commend  itself  to  us. 
"  Let's  get  back,"  said  the  Chief. 
It  was  a  rush  to  manage  it.  There  was  a  scramble  to 
get  to  the  hotel,  a  wrangle  with  the  horrid  little 
Austrian  Jew  proprietor  who  overcharged  us,  a  wild 
clattering  in  a  fiacre  over  the  cobblestones,  and  a  hold- 
up at  the  level  crossing  just  before  we  arrived  at  the 
station.  I  can  remember,  now,  commandeering  a  pass- 
ing Serb,  loading  him  with  our  luggage,  paying  off  the 
fiacre,  hurrying  laden  with  small  kit  into  the  station, 
and  just  barging  into  the  train  before  it  pulled  out. 
Uniform  carries  respect  with  it  everywhere  in  the 
Balkans.  We  took  possession  of  a  coupe  which  pro- 
bably belonged  to  someone  else,  and  simply  entrenched 
ourselves  behind  our  baggage  and  a  wilfully  impene- 
trable ignorance  of  every  language  spoken  to  us.  It 
was  quite  unjustifiable,  very  high-handed  and 
eminently  successful. 

The   train   was   everywhere   overcrowded,    and   the 
corridors  were  half  full  of  people  standing  for  an  all 
Q 


242  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

night   journey   in   the   dark.      There   were   no   lights 
anywhere. 

With  the  help  of  the  stump  of  a  lighted  candle,  two 
tins  of  sardines  and  half  a  loaf  of  bread,  we  managed  to 
pass  the  first  two  hours.  Then  the  candle  failed  us, 
and  eventually  from  sheer  weariness  we  fell  asleep. 


Plate  XII.       Ml"  i|uccr  little  ramshackle  rcvt.nirant 
of  bread   stuck  on   sticks   (p.  2\'-')). 


\\  itii  its  rinffs 


X  -^  ^^^P 


*> 


Plate    XII.     Tziji-ane    woman    (sn    im.c^    l.'JO,   --'08). 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  BLACK  DEATH 

Quarrels  with  the  military — The  uncoflined  dead — Meeting  our  No.  2 
Unit— Sir  Thomas  Lipton  and  the  newspaper  correspondents — The 
Little  Woman  and  Steve  succumb — The  Consul  and  I  re-visit  the 
Holy  Man — An  afternoon  with  the  "  Howling  Dervishes  " — Death 
of  the  Sergeant — An  unexpected  visit  in  the  dead  of  night — The 
typhus  camp — The  derelict  Tekkah — The  story  of  the  Greek 
doctor  and  the  Serbian  sestra — The  horrors  of  the  Prisoners  of 
War  Camp — Our  "  Magaziner." 

IT  seemed  like  a  second  home-coming,  this  return  to 
Uskub.  We  felt  a  warm  glow  of  satisfaction  at 
being  back  where  we  knew  we  were  wanted.  In 
the  soft  spring  sunshine  the  queer  little  ramshackle 
restaurant  outside  the  station,  with  its  rings  of  bread 
stuck  on  sticks,  its  sweetmeats,  its  boxes  of  matches, 
its  two  or  three  blanketed  Albanian  customers,  seemed 
oddly  familiar. 

Everything  in  our  quarters  was  very  quiet.  The 
Sister  moved  softly  round.  Our  men  seemed  all  a  little 
better.     We  brightened  up. 

I  turned  into  the  fever-stricken  hospital.  The 
wonderful  little  Russian  woman  was  plodding  away. 
She  seemed  surprised  to  see  me  back.  I  rather  think 
she  imagined  I  had  deserted  her.  I  brought  some 
Serbian  books  she  had  asked  for  from  Nish,  and  told  her 
what  powers  we  had  returned  with.  We  talked  quietly, 
working  all  the  time,  while  the  cases  were  being  brought 
up  on  stretchers  to  be  dressed  on  the  dirty  wooden 
tables.  The  orderlies  in  their  ragged  grey  Austrian 
uniforms  clumped  steadily  backwards  and  forwards 
with  each  patient,  mottled  with  the  sign  manual  of 

243 


244  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

typhus,  or  yellow  and  wasted  with  relapsing  fever 
superadded  to  their  wounds.  Lice  crawled  slowly  over 
their  dressings  as  we  cut  them  off,  and  threw  them 
into  the  zinc  basins  at  the  foot  of  the  tables.  Some  of 
them  cried  weakly  like  children  when  we  hurt  them — 
we  couldn't  help  hurting  them  there  was  so  much  to  do  ; 
but  most  of  them  bore  it  with  the  uncanny  animial 
silence  of  the  peasant.  Only  the  eyes  spoke  :  brown, 
inscrutable  Slavonic  eyes  that  softened  and  melted  for 
the  little  red-headed  "  Gospodjica  doktore,^^  who  had 
stuck  to  them  so  valiantly  through  it  all,  and  whom 
they  trusted  so  implicitly.  I  felt  glad  we  had  decided 
not  to  have  them  carted  off  to  Belgrade.  It  would 
have  finished  most  of  them. 

"  But  no  !  It  is  not  possible  they  should  have 
suggested  it,"  she  said,  horrified. 

"  They  did,  all  the  same,"  I  answered. 

"  God  of  my  fathers !  "  she  breathed. 


There  was  much  prolonged  and  heated  argument  that 
afternoon  between  the  Chief  and  the  military  authori- 
ties. Everything  suggested  was  impossible,  nothing 
asked  for  could  be  done.  They  wrangled  over  it  all 
evening.  We  wanted  the  new  Cadet  School  outside  the 
city  as  a  typhus  hospital.  The  authorities  said  it  was 
occupied  by  troops,  and  the  O.C.  troops  refused  to 
miove.  We  insisted,  and  were  again  refused.  Finally 
we  asked  to  be  allowed  to  wire  our  proposal  and  their 
refusal  to  the  Prime  Minister.  That  was  exactly  what 
they  did  not  want.  We  noted  their  hesitation,  and 
insisted.  Then  the  opposition  collapsed.  We  had  won 
— on  paper.  The  O.C.  troops  received  an  order  to 
vacate  forthwith. 

Next  day  nothing  happened.  The  troops  were  still 
in  the  prospective  hospital  to  which  I  had  been  posted 
as  Commandant.  I  was  still  in  the  old  hospital  trying 
to  handle  the  wounded,  and  had  found  thirty-five  fresh 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  245 

cases  of  typhus  in  it  that  morning.     The  ''  Sergeant  " 
and  one  other  orderly  were  now  also  definitely  typhus. 

We  were  by  this  time  a  very  tiny  company.  Over 
half  the  unit  was  stricken,  and  the  rest  occupied  in 
looking  after  them.  People  more  and  more  avoided  us 
in  the  street.  Our  landlady  said  nothing,  but  edged 
away  from  us.     We  felt  like  lepers. 

The  one  bright  spot  was  that  Sherlock  and  Steve 
both  seemed  to  be  holding  their  own,  and  the  Sister 
expressed  herself  as  satisfied  with  them. 

That  afternoon,  the  Sister,  Barclay  and  I  went  for 
another  drive  along  the  Salonika  Road,  as  had  now 
become  an  almost  daily  custom.  We  practically  never 
spoke  the  whole  time  we  were  out ;  but  the  fresh  air 
invariably  made  us  feel  better.  Spring  had  come ;  and 
the  sunshine  everywhere,  and  the  quietude  of  the 
desolate,  flat  country  we  drove  through  always  seemied 
to  soothe  us. 

After  we  came  in,  I  went  round  to  the  patisserie  to 
get  some  cakes  for  tea.  Two  ox-waggons  lumbering 
along  the  main  street,  each  with  an  armed  man  in  front, 
caught  my  eye;  and  as  they  passed  I  glanced  casually 
at  the  contents. 

There  were  some  twenty  bodies,  ten  in  each  waggon, 
coffinless,  carelessly  wrapped  in  blankets.  The  legs  of 
one  of  the  bodies,  hastily  thrown  in,  dangled  over  the 
tail  of  the  second  waggon.     It  made  me  feel  shivery. 

Men  were  now  dying  in  such  numbers,  the  carpenters 
could  not  cope  with  the  demand  for  coffins.  People 
were  getting  more  and  more  frightened.  Even  the 
Tziganes  began  to  refuse  to  handle  the  bodies. 

When  I  returned,  I  heard  that  another  Serb  doctor 
had  died  of  typhus  that  morning,  and  that  the  No.  2 
British  Red  Cross  Serbian  Unit,  complete  with  nurses, 
was  on  its  way  through  to  Nish  by  the  night  mail.  The 
thought  of  the  equipmient  they  would  bring  with  them 
filled  me  with  envy.     We,  the  poor  old  "  No.  1  "  Unit, 


246  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

had  been  shot  out  on  twenty-four  hours'  notice,  with 
one-eighth  of  the  equipment  of  a  Field  Ambulance. 
They  were  coming  with  the  full  stores  of  a  Stationary 
Hospital.  A  wild  thought  came  to  me  that  perhaps,  if 
we  represented  our  desperate  plight,  they  might  let  us 
have  a  dozen  nurses  and  one  or  two  truck-loads  of 
stores  to  help  us  in  our  new  typhus  hospital. 

A  few  capable,  trained  women,  a  few  bare  necessaries 
from  their  ample  stores,  and  we  should  have  been  so 
happy.  It  didn't  seem  much  to  ask ;  and  yet  it  seemed 
too  good  even  to  be  hoped  for.  I  think  we  were  all 
very  down  that  evening.  We  met  the  train.  Every 
official  of  any  importance  seemed  to  be  on  the  plat- 
form. The  unit,  we  were  told,  had  comie  out  in  "  Sir 
Lipton's  "  yacht—"  The  Erin  "  ;  and  "  Sir  Lipton  "  was 
coming  up  the  line  with  them,  accompanied  by  a  swarm 
of  newspaper  correspondents.  They  had  an  hour  to 
wait  at  Uskub,  before  the  train  started  again  for  Nish ; 
everyone  bundled  out  to  stretch  their  cramped  limbs ; 
and  soon  we  were  all  talking  together.  I  saw  a  number 
of  nurses  clustering  round  Miss  Rowntree.  The  war 
correspondents  fell  upon  me  with  the  sure  instinct  of 
the  news-gatherer.  I  fancy  I  must  have  talked  a  lot 
that  evening.  I  felt  myself  getting  rather  out  of  hand 
at  times.  Often,  when  they  would  interrupt  with  what 
appeared  a  foolish  question,  I  found  myself  becoming 
annoyed,  forgetting  they  had  just  arrived,  and  that 
what  was  obvious  to  me  after  three  months'  work  in  the 
country,  was  not  self-evident  to  them. 

The  medical  officers  were  equally  irritating.  They 
had  left  England  when  fierce  fighting  was  still  going  on, 
when  the  wounded  were  pouring  south  in  thousands  and 
the  need  for  surgeons  was  urgent.  They  had  comie  out 
equipped  for  surgery.  I  found  myself  explaining,  as  I 
had  to  the  "  Berry  "  unit  a  few  days  before,  that  there 
was  no  more  surgery,  that  the  fighting  w^as  over,  that 
the  country  was  in  the  grip  of  the  black  death,  and  that 
if  they  wanted  to  do  any  real  work  for  the  Serbs  they 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  247 

would  have  to  chuck  away  their  instruments  and 
buckle  down  to  tackling  the  question  of  typhus,  and 
typhus  only. 

Looking  back  on  it  now,  I  can  see  how  very  discon- 
certing all  this  must  have  been  to  their  previously- 
conceived  plans,  and,  incidentally,  what  an  annoying 
person  I  must  have  seemed,  standing  in  the  half  light, 
dressed  in  a  ragged  out-at-the-elbows  uniform,  talking 
somewhat  hysterically  about  the  needs  of  Uskub — a 
place  they'd  never  heard  of  before — foolishly  asking  for 
half  their  staff  and  equipment  to  be  handed  over — to 
them  an  obvious  absurdity. 

Afterwards  I  read  an  account  in  the  Times,  para- 
phrasing what  I  had  told  the  correspondents.  It  made 
very  good  copy. 

Everyone,  of  course,  was  very  nice  to  us.  Sir 
Thomas  promised  me  a  box  of  tea,  which  I  never 
expected  to  get  and  never  did,  although  I  found  out 
afterwards  he  hadn't  forgotten  and  really  had  sent  it. 
Captain  Bennett,  the  Chief  of  the  No.  2  Unit,  promised 
to  come  and  see  us  as  soon  as  he  was  fixed.  Some  of 
the  nurses  told  me  they'd  volunteer  at  once  if  they  were 
given  permission;  and  I'm  sure  they  meant  it. 

We  watched  their  train  steam  slowly  out  of  the 
station,  in  silence. 

Barclay  shook  his  head  after  it. 

"  What  a  waste,"  he  murmured. 

We  all  nodded,  and  the  four  of  us — Barclay,  the 
Little  Red  Woman,  the  Sister  and  I — turned,  silent, 
into  the  quiet  street. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  Little  Woman,  "  I'll  look  into 
the  hospital." 

"  I'll  come  with  you,"  I  said. 

We  went  round  silently.  Afterwards  I  left  her  at  the 
entrance  to  her  quarters. 

The  sentry  outside  came  to  attention  with  a  click. 

"  Laka  noitch,  vojniche  "  (good-night,  sentry),  said 
the  Little  Red  Woman. 


248  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

"  Laka  noitch,  Gospodjice  Doktore,^^  said  the  sentry, 
gravely. 

*'  Laka  noitch,^^  said  I. 

It  was  obvious  by  this  time  that  the  country  was  in 
the  throes  of  an  epidemic  such  as  it  had  never  pre- 
viously experienced.  The  Government  was  thoroughly 
alarmed.  Even  the  heavily  censored  press  talked 
openly  about  the  calamity,  and  published  elaborate 
directions  on  how  to  safeguard  oneself  against  the 
disease. 

It  was  said  there  were  125,000  cases  already  reported 
in  the  country,  and  it  was  spreadily  rapidly.  Soldiers 
on  leave,  sheepskin-clothed  peasants,  refugees — men 
and  women  and  children — returning  to  their  ravaged 
homes,  travelled  up  and  down  the  railway  without  let 
or  hindrance,  communicating  the  disease  to  one 
another,  and  carrying  it  into  remote  villages  away  from 
the  main  lines  of  communication.  All  the  so-called 
hotels,  the  rest  houses,  the  cafes,  the  railway  carriages, 
the  public  vehicles  were  infected. 

We  had  asked  questions  about  the  American  Hos- 
pital at  Ghevgeli  on  several  occasions,  and  always  met 
with  evasive  answers.  Now  we  knew  why.  All  the 
doctors  were  down  with  typhus,  and  most  of  the 
nurses.  Donnolly,  the  head  doctor,  was  dead.  Veles, 
the  next  big  town  between  us  and  Salonika,  had 
thousands  of  cases  alone,  and  no  hospital  and  no  doctor 
for  them. 

All  the  while  we  were  wrangling  to  get  a  new 
clean  building  where  we  could  start  fair,  and  treat  the 
disease  properly,  the  Little  Red  Woman  and  I  were  still 
carrying  on  in  our  old  Pest  House. 

Troubles  seemed  to  take  a  fiendish  pleasure  in  piling 
themselves  one  on  the  top  of  another  upon  us.  One  of 
our  orderlies,  Holt,  who  appeared  to  be  weathering  the 
disease,  suddenly  grew  worse  in  the  night.  Barclay 
and  I  went  over  him  carefully,  only  to  find  he  had 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  249 

developed  pneumonia  in  the  base  of  one  lung  on  the 
day  before  his  crisis  was  expected. 

I  think  it  was  when  we  were  discussing  his  case  that 
a  hurried  message  came  that  the  Little  Woman  was  ill, 
and  would  I  go  and  see  her. 

Barclay  and  I  stared  at  one  another. 

"  I  suppose  it's  '  IT,'  "  he  said. 

"  Considering  how  utterly  careless  she  is,  it  can 
hardly  be  anything  else,"  I  answered  gloomily,  feeling 
absolutely  sure  that  no  element  of  misfortune  was  to  be 
spared  us.  But  when  I  saw  her  curled  up  in  bed  like 
a  small  child,  with  two  big  red  plaits  of  hair  on  the 
counterpane,  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  say  so.  Instead  I 
assured  her  that  it  was  as  likely  to  be  Relapsing  Fever 
as  Typhus,  and  no  one  could  really  say  on  clinical 
grounds  which  it  was  for  two  or  three  more  days. 

I  found,  however,  she  was  not  particularly  interested 
in  that. 

She  knew  quite  as  well  as  I  the  chances  both  ways. 
What  she  was  really  anxious  about  was  some  three  or 
four  special  pet  patients  she  was  spoiling  in  the  hos- 
pital, whom  she  wanted  me  to  take  particular  care  of 
whilst  she  was  ill. 

I  promised,  and  accordingly  took  over  her  part  of  the 
hospital  forthwith.  There  were  now  about  400  cases  in 
the  two  huge  wards  on  the  first  and  second  floors.  The 
top  floor  had  been  evacuated,  except  for  a  few  surgical 
cases  that  could  not  be  moved ;  and  we  were  mainly 
filled  with  typhus  gathered  in  from  several  other  hos- 
pitals. A  large  proportion  of  our  surgical  cases  had 
gone,  or  had  died  of  typhus.  Quite  a  number  of  mild 
typhus  cases  were  walking  around  in  the  medical  wards 
because  there  was  no  one  to  supervise.  Our  Austrian 
orderlies  were  falling  ill  daily,  and  no  more  were  to  be 
had. 

I  spent  a  long  day  trying  to  produce  some  sort  of 
order  with  the  material  I  had,  and  returned  to  our 
quarters  feeling  very  tired  and  depressed. 


250  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Our  old  quarters  were  now  practically  a  hospital  for 
typhus  amongst  our  staff. 

Everything  seemed  very  quiet  when  I  went  in.  The 
Sister  and  Barclay  had  gone  for  a  walk.  It  was  a 
beautiful  sunny  afternoon. 

I  found  Steve  in  his  tent  in  the  Compound,  busy  with 
a  rook  rifle,  trying  to  hit  a  tabloid  stuck  in  a  notch  in 
the  tree  opposite. 

"  Diphtheria  seems  to  be  quite  cured,"  I  said. 

"  I'm  feeling  fine  and  dandy.  It'd  take  more  than 
*  Dip  '  to  get  me  down  and  out,"  he  said  brightly. 

"  The  Little  Woman's  got  typhus,"  I  said 
lugubriously. 

That  damped  him. 

"  Holy  smoke  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  gives  mie  the 
willies  to  think  of  that  girl  over  there.  What's  the 
matter  with  having  her  here  ?'^ 

"  She  won't  come,"  I  said.    "  She's  refused  already." 

"  Hell !     You've  got  to  make  her,"  he  answered. 

I  did  get  her  over  the  next  day,  after  a  considerable 
struggle.  She  was  now  definitely  typhus,  and  I  put  my 
special  Serbian  sestra  and  our  own  Miss  Rowntree  on 
to  her.     Then  I  went  along  to  tell  Steve. 

But  Steve  was  no  longer  interested.  His  tempera- 
ture had  jumped  to  104,  and  there  was  no  doubt 
he  had  *'  got  it,''  as  he  expressed  it,  "  good  and 
plenty." 

The  Chief  had  gone  away  to  Nish  again  to  interview 
the  authorities;  and  so,  of  our  original  unit,  only 
Barclay  and  myself  were  left. 

It  was  market  day,  I  remember,  and  I  had  now  got 
a  Serbian  woman  doctor,  who  had  recovered  from 
typhus,  helping  to  take  over  our  poor  old  plague- 
stricken  hospital.  After  the  morning  round  I  wandered 
into  the  market,  just  outside  the  hospital,  wondering 
how  long  it  was  going  to  last,  how  long  it  would  be 
before  we  all  fell  victims,  whether  it  was  worth  while 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  251 

struggling  any  more.  There  are  times  when  everyone 
turns  coward,  I  suppose. 

The  market  was  full  of  the  usual  crowd  of  peasants 
from  the  surrounding  mountains  selling  produce,  corn, 
potatoes,  vegetables,  chickens,  the  rough  native  woollen 
cloth,  embroideries.  In  addition,  there  were  the  usual 
veiled  Turkish  women  with  piles  of  spangled  muslin 
shawls,  hawkers  with  sweetmeats,  sherbet,  boza,  potters 
with  great  earthen  jars,  Jews  peddling  brass,  china, 
and  oddments  of  every  description,  Albanian  peasants, 
Vlach  drovers,  Tzigane  women  in  huge  baggy  trousers, 
Serbian  officers  in  full  uniform  with  their  wives  out 
marketing,  quite  unaware  of  any  incongruity. 

It  all  seemed  so  far  away  mentally  from  the  hospital 
life,  although  it  was  so  close  physically. 

I  saw  the  Consul  giving  advice  over  Turkish  rugs  to 
a  bevy  of  nurses  from  the  Paget  Unit,  and  had  a  queer 
feeling  that  I  was  dreaming :  there  wasn't  really  any 
typhus,  it  was  just  a  bad  nightmare  from  which  I  should 
presently  wake  to  find  that  I  had  wandered  out,  as  I 
used  to  months  ago,  for  half  an  hour  before  an 
operation. 

Then  I  returned  to  the  hospital,  and  had  every  avail- 
able window  opened  to  get  rid  of  the  awful  close  smell 
of  unwashed  disease  which  permeated  the  place.  I 
used  to  do  this  every  morning  and  every  afternoon,  but 
invariably  when  I  came  into  the  hospital  I  found  them 
closed  again,  for  the  Serb  had  such  an  unholy  fear  of 
fresh  air  that  the  only  way  one  could  keep  a  window 
open  was  to  break  the  glass  in  it. 

The  succeeding  days  were  a  nightmare.  The  Serbian 
lady  doctor  had  taken  over  most  of  the  hospital  from 
me,  and  I  was  just  carrying  on  until  our  new  place  was 
ready ;  Sherlock  and  Steve  and  the  Little  Woman  were 
all  seriously  ill ;  three  of  our  orderlies  were  dangerously 
ill,  and  one  I  saw  was  dying.  The  weather,  too,  was 
atrocious.     It  rained  steadily  all  day. 

Barclay  and  I  used  to  wander  miserably  into  the 


252  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

Consul's  smoking  room  at  night,  after  seeing  the  Sister 
to  her  quarters.  Thinking  of  it  now,  I  realise  that  it 
must  have  required  considerable  courage  on  a  layman's 
part  to  admit  such  obvious  contacts  to  his  house.  But 
he  never  said  anything ;  he  always  gave  us  the  feeling 
that  we  were  welcome ;  and  it  was  such  a  blessed  relief 
we  used  the  privilege  to  the  full. 

Then  the  weather  suddenly  improved,  and  we  plunged 
into  brilliant  spring  sunshine  again.  On  the  first  even- 
ing after,  as  I  was  sitting  quietly  in  the  Consul's  smoke 
room,  he  said : 

"  I  hear  there's  typhus  in  the  Turkish  quarter.  What 
about  calling  on  our  friend  '  the  Holy  Man,'  and  seeing 
how  he  treats  it  ?  He's  your  rival  *  ju-ju  '  man,  and 
perhaps  can  give  you  a  wrinkle." 

"  Done.  Let's  go  to-morrow  afternoon.  I'll  fix  up 
with  Dr.  Stadovich  at  the  hospital." 

It  was  over  a  month  since  I  had  been  across  the 
Vardar,  and  it  was  like  a  stolen  holiday  to  me.  We 
found  our  friend,  stately  and  polite  as  ever,  in  his  little 
*'  Tekkah  "  next  the  tomb  of  the  local  saint,  Alim 
Baba. 

There  was  much  fever  he  admitted,  and  the  saint  was 
being  kept  busy.  Whilst  we  sat  gravely,  cross-legged, 
sipping  coffee  on  his  divan,  the  applicants  for  healing 
kept  coming  and  going. 

An  anxious  mother  brought  her  baby  with 
ophthalmia.  This  he  treated  by  breathing  on  its  face 
three  times,  and  rubbing  saliva  on  its  eyelids,  muttering 
prayers  the  while.  Another  woman  camie  seeking  a 
cure  for  a  friend's  fever.  For  her  he  knotted  a  string 
seven  times  (the  mystical  number),  chanting  as  he 
knotted.  Others  yet  again  were  given  pills  to  chew, 
made  of  verses  from  the  Koran  written  on  paper.  The 
usual  fee  seemed  to  be  half  a  piastre,  which  was  left 
unobtrusively  by  the  patient  on  the  edge  of  the  divan. 
It  was  all  very  dignified  and  impressive. 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  253 

It  was  also  infinitely  simple.  If  the  prescription  did 
not  succeed,  it  was  due  to  want  of  faith  on  the  suppli- 
cant's part,  or  insufficient  endeavour  to  call  the  atten- 
tion of  the  saint  to  the  ailment.  Our  friend,  the  Baba, 
accepted  no  responsibility  for  want  of  trust  in  others. 
How  I  wished  I  could  handle  my  typhus  epidemic  with 
the  same  broad  comforting  faith,  and  with  no  fore- 
bodings about  the  result. 

We  sat  and  watched  and  waited,  while  the  Baba  dis- 
posed of  his  clientele,  until  the  numbers  dwindled  and 
finally  ceased.  Then  he  seated  himself  gravely  on  the 
divan,  and  we  fell  into  desultory  talk  whilst  he  rolled  a 
cigarette,  and  his  acolyte  prepared  more  coffee.  I 
gathered  he  realised  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  that  we  were 
in  the  midst  of  a  great  world  war,  but  on  the  merits  and 
demerits,  the  good  and  bad  fortunes,  and  the  un- 
expected changes  produced  he  was  quite  detached  and 
uninterested.  The  river  of  his  thoughts  rippled  unin- 
terrupted by  cross  currents.  Possibly  the  number  of 
devotees  at  the  tomb  of  the  saint  was  less  and  the  offer- 
ings poorer,  but  it  mattered  not. 

His  disciple  saw  reverently  to  the  simple  wants  of  his 
body,  allowing  him  to  concentrate  on  the  transcen- 
dental mysteries  of  the  higher  plane  on  which  his  soul 
moved.  Incidentally  he  cured  the  sick,  but  that  was  a 
material  thing,  part  of  the  handicap  pertaining  to  the 
body,  the  necessity  for  which  made  him  feel  faintly 
aggrieved,  encroaching  as  it  did  on  the  hours  meant  for 
prayer  and  meditation. 

Quite  gently  and  politely  he  made  me  feel  that  my 
outlook  on  life  was  grossly  material,  that  I  worked  on  a 
plane  infinitely  lower  than  his,  that  what  I  did  was 
purely  on  the  exterior,  whereas  what  really  mattered 
were  the  things  of  the  soul. 

When  we  got  into  the  outer  world  again,  I  said  to  the 
Consul : 

'*  Extraordinary  soothing  effect,  hasn't  he  ?" 

"  You  feel  it,  too  ?"  he  queried.     "  I  hadn't  grasped 


254  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

you  were  so  sensitive  to  atmosphere ;  but  I  use  him 
myself,  quite  shamelessly  at  times,  as  a  sedative." 

I  looked  at  him  sideways,  gratefully. 

'*  I  see.  And  you  thought  I  wanted  something  of 
the  sort?     Thank  you  so  much." 

Perhaps  it  was  with  the  idea  of  giving  me  a  course  of 
distraction  that  the  next  evening  he  suggested  we  might 
attend  a  service  of  the  Rufai,  or  so-called  "  howling 
Dervishes."  At  any  rate,  after  my  morning  round,  we 
took  a  fiacre  and  rattled  over  the  cobbles  looking  for 
the  Rufai  Tekkah,  where  the  ceremony  usually  took 
place.  Arrived  at  our  destination,  however,  we  found 
that  the  Tekkah  had  been  turned  into  a  barracks  for 
one  of  the  numerous  new  battalions,  formed  from 
the  Macedonian  peasants  who  were  now  being  enrolled, 
considerably  against  their  will,  in  the  Serbian  Army. 
This  was  most  disappointing;  but  as  the  result  of  much 
enquiry  and  more  gesticulation  we  eventually  dis- 
covered that  a  combined  service  of  the  Rufai  and 
Mevlevi,  or  "  dancing  Dervishes,"  was  to  take  place  in 
the  Mevlevi  Tekkah,  which  as  yet  was  undisturbed.  So 
we  started  off  once  again,  rattling  along  in  the  brilliant 
sun,  down  winding  lanes  bounded  by  monotonous  mud 
walls  on  either  side,  with  here  and  there  open  door- 
ways, in  and  out  of  which  veiled  women  disappeared 
mysteriously,  giving  glimpses  of  tiled  courtyards  with 
an  occasional  fountain  or  fig-tree,  or  quaint  balcony  or 
group  of  laughing  children  within. 

At  the  Mevlevi  Tekkah  we  found  the  service  was  to 
commence  in  an  hour,  so  we  passed  the  time  lazily  in 
the  graveyard  of  the  adjoining  mosque,  where  the  plum 
trees  were  now  in  full  bloom,  amongst  the  battered, 
neglected  tablets  of  the  dead. 

Every  Dervish  monastery,  like  every  mosque,  is 
placed  alongside  the  tomb  of  some  Weli  or  Holy  man. 
This  particular  monastery  was  very  rich  in  saints. 
There  were  some  half-dozen  oblong  tombs  inside  a  long 
low  building,  one  side  of  which,  next  the  courtyard, 


I'l.itc    \l\    .       ■■    \\r    |i.issc(l    Ihf    time    l.l/.il_\     ill    til.-    L'r.i\i\:ir.i    n(     |||( 

.'iiljiiiiiiiiir   m<>si|iir  ""    (|i.   •_'.■>!(. 


ri.itf    \l\'.      A    Scrhinn    f'jirmliniisc.    iu;ir   Sk(>|)ljc 
(«'ciitr;il  siiKiko  hole  in  the  li\in<r  room.  i-;ittlc  in  tlic  next). 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  255 

was  open  except  for  a  grille  of  vertical  wooden  bars. 
Between  the  bars  one  could  see  the  tombs  covered  with 
rich  silk-embroidered  hangings,  supported  at  their  heads 
by  gigantic  turbans.  Quaint  brass  candlesticks  and 
terracotta  amphorae  stood,  in  front  of  each  sarcophagus, 
on  the  polished  wooden  floor.  Everything  showed  signs 
of  care  and  veneration. 

Certain  predatory  instincts  in  me  suggested  that 
these  costly  silken  embroidered  palls  must  be  almost 
priceless,  and  I  wondered  why  the  Serbs  had  left  them. 

Later  knowledge  explained  the  phenomenon,  which  is 
particularly  noticeable  in  Palestine  where  three  great 
religions  meet  on  common  ground.  There  one  finds 
that  Christians,  Moslems  and  Jews  alike  treat  all  holy 
places  with  veneration.  Jerusalem  is  as  sacred  to  the 
Moslem  as  to  the  Christian  or  the  Jew.  The  Christ  is  a 
prophet  to  the  Moslem.  Abraham  and  Moses,  David 
and  Solomon  he  shares  equally  with  the  Jew.  It  is  no 
uncommon  sight,  therefore,  to  see  a  native  Christian 
praying  at  the  tomb  of  a  Moslem  saint,  and  the  Moslem 
paying  equal  respect  to  the  Christian.  This  possibly 
explains  the  comparative  immunity  of  these  Moslem 
tombs  in  Serbia. 

In  the  courtyard  itself  were  a  number  of  gravestones 
of  the  faithful  buried  in  the  vicinity  made  holy  by  these 
sainted  men,  and  through  these  a  path  of  roughly- 
squared  stones  led  to  the  Loggia  of  the  Tekkah. 

Here  a  silent  lay  brother  relieved  us  of  our  boots,  and 
led  us  stockingfooted  along  a  narrow  passage  to  the 
auditorium,  a  low-roofed  room  with  a  divan  all  round 
it,  on  which  some  ten  or  twelve  brothers  of  the  order 
were  seated.  Everyone  rose  gravely  as  we  entered,  and 
we  were  escorted  to  the  place  of  honour — the  centre  of 
the  divan  opposite  the  door.  Then  everyone  seated 
himself  again,  cross-legged  as  before.  Opposite  each 
of  us  was  a  small  ash  tray,  and  now  the  lay  brother 
brought  in  a  tiny  charcoal  brazier  to  light  our 
cigarettes  by. 


256  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

As  the  ceremony  was  to  be  of  a  mixed  nature,  there 
were  members  of  two  or  three  orders  present.  Some 
had  brown  mantles  with  brown  fezzes  and  black  tur- 
bans ;  others  had  black  mantles,  a  few  had  white 
turbans,  and  some  wore  ordinary  '*  effendi  "  costume — 
that  is,  European  clothes  with  a  fez.  Cigarette  smoke 
and  a  grave  quiet  flow  of  conversation  rippled  round 
the  room.  As  each  fresh  visitor  arrived  everyone  stood 
up,  struck  his  breast  three  times  with  his  right  hand, 
and  seated  himself  gravely  again.  Coffee  came  round. 
Nothing  seemied  to  be  going  to  happen.  And  then, 
quite  unexpectedly,  a  very  modern  American  clock  on 
the  wall  struck  eight,  that  is  four  hours  before  sunset — 
the  end  of  the  Moslem  day.  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It 
was  1.30  European  time.  This,  it  seemed,  was  the 
signal  for  which  we  had  been  waiting. 

Everyone  stood  up,  and  we  were  conducted  into  the 
room  next  door,  where  the  Consul  and  I  were  given 
chairs.  This  it  seemed,  was  the  place  where  the  service 
was  to  be  held. 

It  was  a  plain  square  whitewashed  room  devoid  of 
furniture,  with  three  small  latticed  windows  high  up  in 
the  outer  wall.  There  was  the  usual  Mecca  niche 
(Kibleh),  painted  blue  and  gold,  with  texts  from  the 
Koran  over  and  around.  On  one  side  of  the  room, 
arranged  along  the  floor  against  the  wall,  were  eight 
sheepskins,  four  on  either  side  of  the  Kibleh ;  whilst  in 
the  centre  of  the  bare  scrubbed  wooden  floor  was  a 
semicircle  of  some  twenty  sheepskins  facing  the 
Kibleh. 

Eight  grave  and  reverent  seniors  took  the  sheepskins 
on  either  side  of  the  Kibleh.  The  humbler  brethren 
took  those  in  the  semicircle.  Each  devotee,  cross- 
legged  on  his  sheepskin,  touched  the  ground  in  front  of 
him  with  his  forehead,  before  sinking  back  on  his  heels 
again. 

Everything  was  very  quiet  and  sedate. 

The  proceedings  started  simply  with  the  Fatiah — the 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  257 

Mussulman  confession  of  faith.  As  the  congregation 
chanted  they  swayed  slowly  from  right  to  left  on  their 
knees,  intoning  the  melodious  Arabic  words  as  an  in- 
cantation, led  by  one  of  the  more  prominent  members 
seated  next  the  Kibleh.  Line  after  line,  verse  after 
verse  followed,  the  men  swaying  slowly  from  right  to 
left  chanting  in  unison,  some  of  them  with  their  eyes 
shut.  One  boy  near  the  centre  of  the  semicircle  was 
particularly  prominent.  He  was  already  hypnotic. 
His  eyes  were  glazed.  His  voice  rose  shrilly  in  the 
responses.  His  body  swayed  independent  of  his 
will. 

Presently  the  whole  semicircle  rose  from  their  knees 
and  stood,  right  toe  over  left.  The  sheepskins  were 
removed,  and  the  chanting  recommenced  to  the  accomh 
paniment  of  a  small  tom-tom  beaten  by  a  very  old, 
feeble  Dervish.  Still  in  a  semicircle,  the  devotees 
swung  forwards  and  sideways,  invoking  the  ninety-nine 
names  of  Allah  until  they  were  all  in  a  complete  state 
of  mesmeric  exaltation. 

Suddenly  four  out  of  the  semicircle  advanced  in  a 
square,  extended  their  arms  and  began  to  turn,  head 
over  left  shoulder,  gyrating  at  first  slowly,  gradually 
turning  more  and  more  quickly  whilst  all  the  others 
chanted  around  them.  Minute  after  minute  passed, 
and  still  they  gyrated,  getting  faster  and  faster,  till  the 
sleeves  of  their  robes  stood  out  like  wings  and  each 
body  appeared  like  a  poised  bird.  Then  one  of  the  four 
tapped  with  his  right  foot,  and  all  stopped  instantly, 
apparently  without  any  signs  of  giddiness,  though  they 
had  been  whirling  for  approximately  ten  minutes. 
The  members  of  the  orders  fell  on  their  knees  again. 
There  was  still  more  chanting.  Then  the  ceremony 
finished  quite  abruptly  and  quietly.  The  "  Ecstasis  " 
was  over. 

We  all  trooped  into  the  reception  room  once  more. 
There  was  some  desultory  talk  of  Persian  texts  over  the 
coffee,  and  our  hosts  seemed  to  have  forgotten  utterly 

R 


258  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

their  frenzy  of  less  than  half  an  hour  before.  They 
were  able  evidently  to  disassociate  completely  between 
the  two  states  of  mind. 

"  And  that,"  said  I,  breaking  the  silence  on  the  way 
back,  "  is  the  '  dancing  Dervish.'  " 

"  That,"  said  the  Consul,  "  is  the  '  dancing  Dervish.' 
It  rather  reminds  one  of  the  methods  of  the  American 
negro  at  a  camp  meeting,"  he  added.  "  They  work 
themselves  up  by  hymn-singing  and  prayer,  the  Der- 
vishes by  chanting  the  name  of  God  until  they're 
mesmerised." 

I  saw  the  Consul  was  getting  into  his  stride,  so  I 
interrupted  : 

"  Quite  so.  By  the  way,  are  you  coming  to  tea  with 
me,  or  I  with  you  ?" 

That  side-tracked  him.  The  Consul  was  intensely 
hospitable.  We  were  close  to  the  Greek  patisserie  in 
the  main  street  on  our  way  home. 

"  You  are  coming  to  me,"  he  said,  diving  across 
the  road  into  the  shop  to  secure  a  supply  of  the  delect- 
able cakes  we  all  loved  so. 

Looking  back  now,  there  was  something  pathetic  in 
the  way  we  pretended  to  be  cheerful.  Every  one 
was  "  bright  "  as  an  example  to  the  others.  The 
Consul  was  bright  because  he  represented  King  and 
Country,  because  he  was  genuinely  sorry  for  us,  because 
he  was  courageous  enough  to  ignore  the  fact  that  we 
were  dangerously  risky  people  to  take  into  his  house. 

The  Sister  was  bright  because  she  was  the  only  woman 
we  had,  and  we  depended  on  her  so. 

Barclay  and  I  only  pretended  to  be  bright  outside  our 
quarters.  In  our  funny  little  room,  with  its  low  roof 
and  stuffy  furniture  and  awful  wood  stove,  its  chromo- 
lithograph of  King  Peter,  and  its  little  niche  with  St. 
George  and  his  night-light  that  would  blow  out  when  we 
opened  the  window,  we  refused  to  be  bright  except 
when  the  Sister  paid  us  a  visit  after  dinner. 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  259 

Then  we  pretended  again.     It  was  all  very  wearing. 

All  our  people  seemed  worse  the  next  day.  The 
"  Sergeant  "  developed  a  right  hemiplegia  and  was 
obviously  dying.  Steve  was  very  light-headed  and 
troublesome,  and  had  managed  to  hide  his  automatic 
pistol  where  the  Sister  could  not  find  it.  We  had 
moved  the  Little  Woman  over  from  her  quarters  to  my 
old  room  just  before  a  furious  downpour  of  rain ;  and 
she  was  so  ill  after  it,  we  decided,  much  against  our  will, 
that  we  must  really  beg  a  nurse  for  night  duty  from 
the  other  British  unit. 

Of  course  they  sent  us  a  nurse  at  once,  and  we  felt 
most  absurdly  grateful.  We  were  now  feeling  such 
pariahs  that  an  ordinary  kindness  was  almost  too  much 
for  us. 

Then  things  seemed  to  brighten.  A  man  I  had 
sent  up  the  mountain  returned  with  a  sack  of  ice 
for  our  patients.  That  night  the  Consul  camie  in 
to   see  us. 

"  I'm  off  to  Salonika,"  he  said.  "  If  there's  any  mail 
you  want  to  send,  I'll  take  it  with  me." 

It  was  a  kindly  thought,  but  no  one  had  the  energy 
to  attempt  writing  home.  Instead  we  fell  into  desul- 
tory talk.  The  Consul  was  full  of  enthusiasm  about 
Mount  Athos,  that  curious  colony  of  Greek,  Russian, 
Serbian  and  Bulgarian  monasteries  which  had  persisted 
through  centuries,  in  spite  of  Turkish  suzerainty,  prac- 
tically autonomous,  not  two  days'  journey  from 
Salonika — another  example  of  the  tolerance  of  Islam. 

We  planned  a  tour  there.  We  talked  idly  of  a  voyage 
in  a  felucca  from  Salonika  through  the  iEgean  isles. 
We  agreed  to  travel  through  Spain  on  the  way  home 
to  England,  visiting  what  was  left  of  the  grandeur  of  the 
Moor.  And  all  the  while  I  felt  that  it  was  quite  futile, 
that  Serbia  had  laid  its  infected  hand  on  us,  that  none 
of  us  would  ever  see  the  white  cliffs  of  England  again. 
It  was  a  sort  of  sorry  make-believe  of  things,  impossible 
but  well-intentioned. 


260  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

And  in  the  night  the  "  Sergeant  "  died.  We  moved 
the  body  to  the  gate-house,  now  tacitly  looked  upon 
as  our  mortuary. 

Then  I  went  through  his  effects,  turning  over  his 
carefully-folded  tunics  and  pitiful  little  personal  belong- 
ings, all  done  up  with  the  neatness  of  the  old  soldier. 
Apparently  he  was  a  solitary  person.  There  were  none 
of  the  usual  photographs  of  women,  letters,  trinkets. 
No  one  seemed  to  own  him.  There  was  evidently  no 
one  to  write  to,  who  would  be  sorry.  He  had  given  his 
life  quite  casually  for  a  people  he  knew  not,  for  a  cause 
he  probably  did  not  understand,  merely  for  an  idea  of 
duty,  dimly  yet  tenaciously  held.  He  was  just  a 
kindly,  unassuming  British  Tommy,  accepting  orders, 
carrying  out  instructions,  and  incidentally  dying  in 
their  execution,  like  many  thousands  who  have  made 
the  ultimate  sacrifice  since,  without  any  clearly  formu- 
lated thought  except  of  "  carrying  on  "  until  death 
or  his  senior  officer  ordered  otherwise. 

They  gave  him  an  officer's  funeral.  The  Czech  Band 
played  the  funeral  march  through  the  streets  to  the 
cemetery.  The  Bishop,  clad  in  purple,  red  and  gold, 
supported  by  his  priests  in  vivid  green,  swinging  silver 
censers,  followed  the  band.  The  mourners,  with 
candles  burning,  surrounded  the  hearse.  The  solemn 
funeral  service  of  the  Greek  Church  was  chanted  over 
the  open  grave.  Each  of  us  saluted  the  lowered  coffin 
of  our  comrade. 

Then  we  went  back  to  the  hospital,  wondering  whose 
turn  it  would  be  next. 

I  think  this  was  the  day  when  the  spirits  of  the  unit 
sank  to  their  lowest  ebb.  There  was  an  indescribable 
feeling  in  our  minds  that  we  were  all  trapped,  that 
effort  was  useless,  that  nothing  we  could  do  would  help 
either  our  patients  or  ourselves.  Overwork,  lack  of 
medical  supplies,  the  apparent  hopelessness  of  ever 
getting  anything  done  by  the  officials,   our  sense  of 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  261 

isolation  from  people  of  our  own  tongue,  all  helped  to 
strengthen  the  impression. 

A  queer  thing  happened  that  evening.  The  quarters 
were  very  quiet.  It  was  near  midnight.  Sherlock 
was  asleep  in  his  bed.  The  Little  Red  Woman  lay 
tossing  in  my  old  room,  half  delirious.  The  night  nurse 
had  gone  to  the  kitchen  to  prepare  some  invalid  food. 
All  the  doors  were  open.  The  fires  in  the  stoves  burned 
a  dull  red.     In  each  room  was  a  single  lighted  candle. 

A  stealthy  figure  crept  along  the  passage,  turned  into 
my  room,  started,  surprised  at  the  sight  of  the  Little 
Red  Woman  there,  hesitated,  and  then  made  for  Steve's 
room  beyond. 

The  door  was  partly  closed,  and,  as  he  pushed  it 
gently,  it  creaked.  Still  stealthily  he  pushed  it  open 
and  entered.  Steve,  lying  on  his  bed,  wakened  at  the 
noise,  turned,  and  sat  up  shakily — a  white  figure  in  the 
dim-lit  room. 

"Halt!  Who  goes  there?"  he  called  in  a  queer 
croaking  voice,  for  his  tongue  was  very  dry,  and  he 
could  articulate  only  with  difficulty. 

The  stealthy  figure  stopped,  looked  into  the  muzzle 
of  a  Mauser  pistol  held  in  Steve's  shaking  hand,  gave  a 
quick  gasp,  backed  hurriedly  and  fled,  just  as  Steve 
collapsed  fainting  in  the  bed,  his  pistol  rattling  to  the 
floor. 

It  was  Ike. 

We  heard  next  day  that  he  had  been  seen  in  the  town, 
and  had  left  again.  What  he  was  doing  in  our  quarters 
we  never  found  out.  Whether  he  had  heard  or  not  that 
most  of  us  were  down  with  typhus,  I  cannot  say.  At 
anyrate  we  never  saw  him  again.  He  had  looked  into 
Steve's  half-mad  eyes.  Evidently  he  knew  he  had  been 
very  close  to  death. 

And  Steve.  He  could  only  remember  it  vaguely 
afterwards.  For  some  queer  reason  of  his  own  he  had 
stuck  to  his  Mauser  all  through  his  illness,  hidden  it 
away  from  the  Sister,  moved  it  about  when  his  bed  was 


262  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

being  made,  constantly  kept  it  by  him.  Once  or  twice 
Barclay  had  tried  to  persuade  him  to  let  him  have  it, 
but  he  always  became  so  violent  he  gave  it  up. 

"  You  only  want  a  gun  once  in  your  life,"  Steve  used 
to  say.  "  But  when  you  do,  you  want  it  mighty  bad. 
Guess  I'll  keep  mine." 

It  was  an  odd  episode,  and  marked  our  final 
encounter  with  Ike.  But  I  heard  of  him  afterwards. 
He  led  a  band  of  English  nurses  safely  through  Albania 
in  the  great  retreat  nine  months  later;  and  I  can  well 
remember  seeing  his  portrait  in  the  Sphere,  with  four 
laudatory  lines  of  letterpress  about  "  our  gallant  Ser- 
bian guide  "  underneath. 

I  have  a  feeling  I  never  quite  fathomed  Ike. 

Next  day  a  wire  arrived  from  the  Chief :  "  Returning 
with  two  nurses  " ;  and  suddenly  we  all  felt  cheered  up 
again.  Of  course,  it  was  quite  illogical.  The  extra 
help  was  as  a  drop  in  the  ocean  of  our  needs.  The 
situation  was  not  really  lightened ;  but  nevertheless  we 
all  felt  better,  and  when  the  new  arrivals  appeared 
everyone  became  animated  and  bright  again.  It  was 
something  even  to  see  people  who  had  not  been  through 
our  experiences.  One  of  the  nurses  was  fresh  out  from 
England ;  and  we  found  her  curiosity  about  the  con- 
ditions, her  eagerness  to  start  in  and  be  a  help,  quite 
stimulating.  To  some  extent  our  sense  of  humour 
returned ;  and  we  were  once  more  able  to  laugh  as  we 
recounted  some  of  the  comically  woeful  scenes  we  had 
gone  through.  As  for  me,  in  addition,  my  conscience 
was  lightened.  The  other  new  nurse  the  Chief  brought 
back  was  the  derelict  Englishwoman  from  Nish.  Some- 
how I  felt  absurdly  pleased  over  that. 


It  was  now  the  middle  of  February,  1915.  All  real 
fighting  had  ceased  since  Christmas,  and  no  more  fresh 
wounded  were  coming  down  the  line  from  the  Danubiau 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  263 

front.  The  country,  however,  was  now  infected  with 
typhus  fever  on  an  epidemic  scale,  and  the  authorities 
seemed  powerless  to  do  anything  to  check  its  ravages. 
Stories  circulated  of  whole  villages  down  with  it,  towns 
where  two  or  three  thousand  cases  were  lying  in  the 
hospitals  without  doctors,  medicines,  or  any  sort  of 
skilled  attention.  Every  big  building  up  the  line  was 
said  to  be  full  to  overflowing.  Patients  were  dying  in 
the  streets.  The  doctors  were  dying.  Greek  doctors 
employed  in  their  places  were  said  to  be  neglecting  their 
patients,  or  deserting  their  posts,  or  themselves  also 
dying.  Every  one  blamed  the  Austrian  prisoners  for 
introducing  it ;  but  as  the  disease  is  present  every  winter 
in  Serbia  it  is  mjore  probable  that  the  combination  of 
refugees  huddled  in  all  sorts  of  unsuitable  buildings, 
large  masses  of  troops  moving  backwards  and  forwards, 
fighting  under  insanitary  conditions,  and  an  unexpected 
influx  of  prisoners  for  whom  no  suitable  barrack 
accommodation  had  been  provided,  all  combined  to 
make  the  ordinary  endemic  condition  epidemic. 

The  only  person  who  seemed  to  have  any  grasp  of  the 
situation  was  the  Premier,  M.  Pasitch.  We  heard  that 
he  had  cabled  to  France  and  England  asking  for  a 
Sanitary  Mission  of  one  hundred  doctors  from  each 
country,  and  that  these  were  being  sent.  In  the  mean- 
while Sir  Ralph  Paget  and  our  Chief  were  given  almost 
autocratic  powers  in  Uskub;  and  they  again  began  to 
put  pressure  on  the  local  authorities.  What  we  wanted 
to  do  was  to  establish  a  typhus  camp  outside  the  town ; 
and  we  asked  once  more  for  the  Cadet  School  and 
Cavalry  Barracks  on  the  Kumanovo  Road  for  this 
purpose.  The  situation  was  high  and  wind-swept.  It 
was  free  of  the  town.  Best  of  all,  the  buildings  were 
new,  with  water  laid  on,  and  they  had  large  dormitories 
suitable  for  wards,  with  bath-houses  alongside.  It  was 
suggested  I  should  run  the  Cadets'  building,  and 
Dr.  Maitland  of  the  Paget  Unit  the  Cavalry  Barracks. 
The   trouble   was   the   barracks   were   occupied   by 


264  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

troops ;  there  was  a  Cadet  course  going  on  in  the  School ; 
and  the  Commandant  still  flatly  refused  to  move. 

We  wrangled  for  several  days. 

Meanwhile,  as  I  was  to  run  our  part  of  the  camp 
when  it  was  started,  I  went  out  to  look  over  the  ground. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spring  morning  with  the  sun  high 
overhead  in  a  sky  of  fleecy  blue,  and  the  walk  across  the 
Vardar  up  past  the  Citadel  on  to  the  high  level  plateau 
above  the  town  was  most  exhilarating.  On  a  day  like 
this  it  was  impossible  to  feel  downhearted.  Beyond  the 
Citadel  I  passed  the  village  of  the  Tziganes.  Most  of 
the  men  had  been  conscripted,  much  against  their  will, 
to  serve  in  the  new  levies  being  raised  to  replace  the 
woefully  depleted  Serbian  Army  of  1914 ;  but  the  village 
still  teemed  with  children,  dark-eyed,  brown-skinned, 
with  here  and  there  a  few  slender  girls  and  full-bosomed 
women  gaudily  clad,  clinking  with  silver  ornaments 
over  comely  foreheads  and  rounded  necks. 

They  formed  picturesque  groups  as  they  gossiped 
shrilly  round  the  well  by  the  wayside,  pitcher  on 
shoulders  or  poised  on  the  top  of  their  heads,  glancing 
quick-eyed  at  the  smart  blue-tuniced  Serbian  officers 
riding  past,  totally  ignoring  the  plodding  blanket-clad 
peasants,  proceeding  citywards,  with  their  donkeys 
laden  with  charcoal  or  bales  of  dried  tobacco  leaf  for 
the  Regie. 

Two  years  before  all  this  country  had  been  Turkish ; 
and  further  along  a  little  Dervish  Tekkah  stood,  low- 
walled  around  the  domed  tomb  of  the  saint,  overlooked 
by  some  tall  poplars  in  a  row  standing  sentinel  clear 
against  the  sky.  A  solitary  old  Dervish  appeared  from 
nowhere  daily  to  care  for  the  tomb  of  the  saint,  and 
collect  the  offerings  of  the  devout  pushed  through  a 
slit  in  the  wall.  The  dilapidation  and  general  air  of 
unkemptness  did  not  suggest  affluence,  and  as  I  passed  I 
slipped  a  silver  dinar  through  the  slit,  for  there  is 
nothing  so  pathetic  to  me  as  the  decaying  emblems  of 
the  faith  of  the  under  dog,  whoever  he  may  be. 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  265 

Beyond  the  Tekkah,  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  a  half- 
finished  carriage  drive  led  to  a  large,  white,  many- 
windowed  building,  which  was  the  former  palace  of  the 
Turkish  Governor ;  and  behind  it  some  six  or  eight  long 
barrack-like  buildings  were  arranged. 

This  was  the  area  for  which  I  was  looking. 

The  Palace,  I  found,  was  already  a  hospital.  The 
other  buildings  behind  were  still  occupied  by  troops.  I 
made  my  way  to  the  hospital. 

A  fresh-coloured,  good-looking,  rather  slatternly  Ser- 
bian woman  of  about  thirty  found  me  in  the  entrance 
hall.  She  greeted  me  in  English  and  offered  to  take 
m]e  round.  From  her  I  learnt  that  there  were  some  750 
patients  in  the  hospital,  mostly  from  the  new  levies, 
and  many  of  them  had  typhus.  One  Greek  doctor  and 
herself  looked  after  them  all  with  the  help  of  Austrian 
prisoners.  The  three  previous  doctors  had  died  of 
typhus,  and  this  one,  she  said,  was  leaving.  She  asked 
me  if  I  was  taking  over,  and  seemed  disappointed  when 
I  answered : — 

"  No.  We  want  to  take  the  Cadet  College  and  leave 
this  as  the  hospital  for  troops." 

I  asked  her  if  she  was  not  afraid  of  getting  typhus 
herself.     She  shrugged  her  shapely  shoulders. 

"  No.  Who  cares  ?  I  don't.  I  haven't  got  it  yet. 
I  nursed  all  the  three  doctors  who  died.  There  seems 
to  be  a  fate  on  the  doctors.  This  one  hasn't  got  it  yet. 
If  he  does  he'll  die  too."  She  glanced  at  me  sombrely. 
"  There's  no  luck  with  this  place.  Don't  take  it  over. 
I  like  the  English.  I  was  stewardess  on  the  Red 
Anchor  Line  before  the  war.  That's  why  I  can 
speak  your  tongue.  If  you  like  to  take  me  I'll 
come  to  the  other  hospital  with  you."  She  looked 
at  me  suddenly.  "  Take  me  away  from  this.  I 
would  be  very  good  to  you,"  she  added  slowly, 
then  looked  away. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  I  said  gently.  "  I  have  three  English 
nurses  already." 


266  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

She  wilted  at  that.  "  I  quite  understand,"  she  said, 
her  voice  traihng  off. 

The  Greek  doctor  came  up  at  this.  He  was  wearing 
Serbian  military  uniform,  and  looked  very  tired.  Still, 
he  took  me  round  courteously,  and  I  got  the  impression 
that  in  a  rough,  practical  way  his  hospital  was  as  effi- 
cient as  the  materials  at  his  disposal  permitted. 

All  sorts  of  fever  cases  were  lying  in  contiguous  beds, 
and  he  differentiated  between  them  empirically  by 
pinching  their  toes  as  he  passed.  If  they  squirmed  and 
drew  up  their  feet  he  said  they  had  typhus.  I  had  no 
books  with  me,  but  I  dimly  remembered  something  I 
had  read,  possibly  in  Murchison,  Graves  or  Stokes, 
about  the  "  tender  toes  of  typhus,"  and  had  the 
curiosity  to  try  it  on  cases  of  my  own  later.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  60-80%  responded  to  the  test.  But 
then  we  had  a  large  proportion  of  cases  that  went  on 
to  gangrene  of  the  extremities,  a  condition  very 
uncommon  in  the  better  nursed,  less  debilitated  cases 
one  saw  as  a  student  in  Ireland. 

I  developed  a  queer  liking  for  this  morose,  tired  man. 
He  told  me  he  was  handing  over  to  an  Austrian  doctor, 
a  prisoner,  and  was  himself  going  back  to  Salonika ; 
but,  with  the  odd  Celtic  foreknowledge  of  death  that 
comes  to  one,  I  knew  he  never  would,  and  I  felt  that  the 
woman  walking  round  with  us  knew  it  also,  for  she 
seemed  to  treat  him  with  the  kindness  reserved  for  the 
doomed. 

I  think  it  was  about  two  or  three  weeks  later  I  saw 
him  again.  He  developed  the  disease  a  week  or  ten 
days  after  my  visit,  and  was  taken  at  the  instance  of 
the  Greek  Consul  to  the  Idahya  Hospital,  much  to  his 
distress,  for  he  did  not  want  to  leave  the  woman. 

When  no  one  was  watching,  one  afternoon  he  got  out 
of  bed,  delirious,  with  some  vague  idea  of  going  back  to 
her,  and  in  his  clothes  attempted  to  swim  the  Vardar, 
swollen  with  the  bitter  cold  snow  water  from  the  Kara 
Dagh.       Half  way  across  he  came  on  an  island,  and 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  267 

there  commenced  to  take  his  clothes  off.  A  Serb  soldier 
saw  him  from  the  bank,  swam  out  and  brought  him 
back,  swam  out  again  and  brought  his  clothes,  and  then, 
finding  he  had  forgotten  his  boots,  swam  out  again  for 
them.  My  hospital  had  been  started  by  that  time  and 
they  brought  him  in  to  me.  But  he  had  double 
pneumonia,  and  the  end  was  inevitable. 

I  remember  his  Consul  coming  to  see  me  about  him. 
He  stood  outside  the  hospital,  and  kept  twenty  yards 
from  me.  I  could  see  he  was  very  frightened  of  con- 
tagion. I  asked  him  if  he  wanted  to  see  the  patient, 
and  he  hastily  recoiled  with  a  ^^Non!  Non!  Mon 
Dieu!  Non!  Non!  "  All  he  wanted  to  know  was 
whether  or  not  he  was  being  treated  as  an  officer.  I 
reassured  him  on  this  point,  and  his  official  soul  was 
satisfied.  We  buried  him  with  full  military  honours 
next  day. 

The  woman — I  do  not  think  she  cam>e  to  the  funeral. 
I  fancy  she  did  not  care  for  him  much.  At  any  rate,  I 
never  consciously  saw  her  again.  I  believe  she  came 
through  unscathed.  What  happened  to  her  if  she  was 
still  there  when  the  Bulgars  broke  through  in  1915,  I  do 
not  care  to  imagine. 

But  to  resume.  Behind  the  hospital  were  a  number 
of  other  buildings  more  or  less  occupied  by  troops, 
artillery  sheds  full  of  captured  guns,  and  bivouac  areas 
where  groups  of  recruits,  Albanians,  Vlachs,  Serbs, 
Tziganes  still  in  their  peasant  costumes,  were  squatting 
round  camp  fires  with  piled  arms  alongside.  Some  were 
cooking,  some  cleaning  their  rifles,  some  idly  smoking 
or  watching  the  squads  drilling  awkwardly  on  the 
parade  ground  close  by.  All  had  the  good  humoured 
look  of  soldiery  at  their  ease. 

I  glanced  at  the  various  buildings  as  I  passed,  cal- 
culating their  potentialities  as  improvised  hospitals. 
Further  on  I  came  to  a  long  low  run  of  cavalry  stables, 
in  front   of  which  two   sentries  with  fixed  bayonets 


268  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

promenaded.  A  foetid  odour  caught  me  by  the  throat 
as  I  entered ;  and  as  my  eyes  got  accustomed  to  the 
half  light  I  saw  it  was  full  of  Austrian  prisoners  in 
blue-grey  tattered  uniforms,  lying  about  in  the  straw  of 
the  stalls,  dull-faced,  apathetic,  anaemic,  pinched-look- 
ing.  A  smart  looking  gunner  N.C.O.  came  quickly  to 
attention.  Even  in  these  squalid  surroundings  he  had 
managed  to  preserve  his  uniform,  keep  himself  spick 
and  span,  retain  his  self  respect.  His  quick  eye  took 
rrue  in  rapidly. 

"  You  in  charge  here  .»*" 

"Yes,  sir." 

I  was  so  accustomed  to  Austrians  speaking  good 
English,  it  did  not  surprise  me  in  the  least  to  learn  he 
had  been  for  years  in  London. 

As  we  walked  round  the  evil-smelling  building  I  asked 
him  questions. 

Yes,  the  men  fit  to  work  went  out  daily  road  mending 
on  the  Kumanovo  Road.  If  a  man  was  not  fit  he  did 
not  go ;  but,  of  course,  his  rations  were  not  so  good. 
No,  the  Serbs  didn't  overwork  them.  Most  of  them 
were  Croats — he  was  a  Croat  himself — and  there  was  no 
ill-feeling  against  them.  It  was  recognised  they  didn't 
want  to  fight  the  Serb.  Doctoring  !  Well,  if  a  man 
was  sick  he  was  supposed  to  report  to  the  Greek  doctor 
up  at  the  hospital.  Sometimes  they  did,  sometimes 
they  were  too  weak  and  ill  to  report.  Then  they  just 
lay  in  the  straw  and  died  or  recovered.  It  wasn't 
anyone's  fault  really.  There  was  very  little  room  in 
the  hospital.  The  Greek  doctor  hadn't  time  to  come 
down.  There  wasn't  anyone  else.  No,  he  didn't  blame 
the  Serbs.  They  didn't  get  any  more  attention  them- 
selves when  they  were  ill.  Austria  wasn't  much  better. 
Life  was  very  cheap  everywhere.  It  wasn't  like 
England  or  America  where  public  opinion  wouldn't 
allow  such  things.  He  knew  better,  but  the  others 
didn't.  They  just  lay  down  and  died  like  dumb 
animals.      He  had  had  typhus  himself — nearly  died — 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  269 

but  somehow  he  had  recovered.  He  talked  on  evenly, 
curiously  detached.     It  made  me  feel  sick. 

I  remember  glancing  into  one  stall. 

"  That  man  looks  dead,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  is.  There's  four  dead  this  morn- 
ing. When  the  working  party  comes  back  at  noon,  I'll 
have  them  dragged  out  and  buried." 

I  had  a  look  at  the  body.  It  was  mottled  with 
typhus.  Two  men  were  asleep  in  the  stall  beside  what 
was  left  of  their  comrade.  Some  other  man  would  take 
his  place  in  the  straw  that  night.  There  would  be  no 
disinfection,  no  isolation.  His  infected  clothes  and 
boots  would  be  divided  up  amongst  his  fellow  prisoners. 

It  was  horrible,  and  yet  it  was  inevitable.  I  knew 
representation  to  the  military  authorities  would  be  use- 
less. Their  own  problems  were  so  difficult,  they  had  no 
time  to  worry  over  prisoners  of  war.  Even  the  fact 
that  these  prisoners  were  a  constant  source  of  danger 
to  the  troops  around  them  made  no  difference. 

There  was  nothing  I  could  do  except  promise  myself 
that  when  our  hospital  came  there  I  would  see  they 
were  looked  after. 


That  afternoon  I  heard  that  at  last  the  military 
authorities  had  really  been  coerced,  and  we  were  to 
obtain  the  Cadet  Buildings  which  lay  to  the  north  of 
the  hospital  and  barracks  visited  by  me  during  the 
morning. 

I  was  out,  therefore,  with  the  Chief  at  nine  next  morn- 
ing, and  we  found  the  building  vacated.  It  was  a  long 
four-storeyed  rectangular  block,  with  dormitories  in 
the  centre,  and  small  living  rooms  and  offices  at  either 
end.  It  actually  had  lavatories  and  water  laid  on  in 
the  east  wing;  and  we  were  overjoyed,  for  it  was  the 
nearest  approach  to  anything  that  could  be  considered 
suitable  for  a  hospital  we  had  yet  seen  in  Serbia. 

And  now  succeeded  a  very  busy  period.     We  had  a 


270  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

huge  empty  building  capable  of  containing  six  hundred 
sick,  Serbian  fashion,  and  about  three  hundred,  English 
fashion.  We  compromised  by  promising  to  take  four 
hundred  as  a  maximum ;  and  our  job  now  was  to  find 
equipment  and  staff. 

To  assist  us  the  Serbs  gave  me  a  "  quartermaster,"  or 
as  they  called  him  a  "  magaziner."  His  duty  was  to 
collect  the  stores  requisite,  getting  as  much  as  possible 
from  the  Serbian  Ordnance,  and  help  us  with  advice  as 
to  where  one  could  purchase  the  rest.  Incidentally  he 
was  responsible  to  the  Government  for  the  safety  of  all 
these  stores. 

Our  "  magaziner  "  was  a  thick-set  cheerful  little  man 
of  about  forty-five,  with  his  close-cropped  skull  a  mass 
of  healed  sabre  cuts,  a  bright  and  merry  eye,  and  an 
unfailing  optimism.  Whatever  we  wanted  he  agreed  to 
at  once  with  a  quick  "  dobro,  dobro  "  (all  right),  it 
shall  be  done. 

We  wanted  to  start  at  2  p.m. — dobro,  dobro. 

We  wanted  a  fatigue  party  of  fifteen  Austrians  to 
whitewash  the  wards  and  corridors — dobro,  dobro. 

We  wanted  the  keys  of  the  various  wards  fitted  and 
labelled — dobro,  dobro. 

Everything  was  dobro. 

I  got  there  at  two  o'clock.  There  was  no  "  maga- 
ziner," no  fatigue  party,  no  keys,  nothing  doing. 

At  three  o'clock,  very  irate,  I  went  to  the  main  hos- 
pital.    No  sign  of  the  magaziner. 

Eventually  he  arrived  and  I  fell  upon  him.  A  pained 
look  came  over  his  face.  He  assured  me  he  had  been 
trying  unsuccessfully  all  the  morning  to  get  the  white- 
wash brushes  out  of  Ordnance,  finally  having  to  buy 
them  himself  in  the  town.  It  distressed  himi  very  much 
to  find  censure  instead  of  praise.  He  was  bitterly  dis- 
appointed. His  attitude  reduced  me  to  apologetic  im- 
potence in  five  minutes ;  and  we  grew  quite  amicable 
when  he  finally  arranged  we  should  start  at  8  a.m.  next 
morning. 


IMate  W.     ••  A   little   Di-rvisli  tekkali,   low-w.illcd  an.imd   tlu- 
tomb  of  the  Saint  "'   (sec  p.  2<>U. 


IS'  •" !  "M  !'  nil  lit  (  M  . 


mi       1 1  f  r 
» •  • • i    lire 

a 


Plate  XV. — The  Cadet  Building-  whieli  we  turned  iiit< 
'ryi>liiis    Hospital    (p.   •_'()•)). 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  271 

My  Austrian  orderly  James,  who  had  now  com- 
pletely recovered  from  his  typhus,  was  put  in  charge  of 
the  hospital  building  and  the  keys.  I  left  him  and  the 
magaziner  to  work  out  indents  for  such  labour  and 
material  as  we  required,  and  returned  to  report  to  the 
Chief. 

Next  morning  found  me  at  hospital  very  early  and 
very  impatient.  James  had  marshalled  his  men, 
and  they  were  working  very  slowly,  very  languidly, 
whitewashing  with  long  pauses. 

Poor  devils,  I  did  not  wonder.  They  were  all  half 
starved  anaemic  Austrians  just  recovered  from  typhus. 
I  had  asked  specially  for  men  who  had  recovered, 
because  of  the  danger  of  the  work  to  those  not 
"  salted,"  and  this  was  the  best  they  could  do  for  me. 
It  was  horrible  to  have  to  hustle  them,  but  the  work 
had  to  be  done,  and  I  hardened  my  heart,  promising 
extra  rations  to  all  who  were  reported  on  favourably. 
To  give  them  their  due,  Austrian  prisoners  generally 
worked  well.  They  stole  of  course  when  they  got  the 
chance,  they  robbed  the  dead,  they  ate  the  patients' 
rations  when  they  got  the  opportunity,  but  on  the  whole 
they  were  never  actively  unkind  to  the  helpless,  and 
when  supervised  they  did  their  alloted  tasks  under  con- 
ditions that  must  have  been  of  necessity  hard  to  men 
who  ought  all  to  have  been  in  convalescent  homes. 

Occasionally  one  would  drop  dead  when  helping  to 
carry  a  stretcher ;  but  there  was  never  any  lack  of  can- 
didates to  fill  the  vacancies,  as  we  saw  that  each 
orderly  had  a  mattress  to  sleep  on,  a  roof  to  cover  him, 
definite  hours  of  work  which  were  not  too  laborious,  and 
regular  rations.  We  also  saw  that  he  was  washed  and 
clothed. 

As  it  was  obvious  that  it  would  take  some  days  to  get 
hospital  equipment  together,  the  Chief  suggested  that 
I  should  visit  the  No.  2  British  Red  Cross  Unit  at 
Vernjatskabanya  while  things  were  being  arranged,  in 
order  to  see  what  additional  help  I  could  get  from  themi, 


272  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

what  stores  they  would  let  us  have,  and  particularly  if 
they  could  give  us  an  ambulance.  Hitherto  we  had 
not  needed  an  ambulance,  as  we  were  alongside  the 
station  in  our  old  hospital ;  but  here  we  were  three  miles 
away,  and  with  the  improvement  in  the  weather,  and 
consequently  in  the  so-called  roads,  we  thought  a  motor 
ambulance  might  be  usable.  There  was  no  such  vehicle 
in  all  Southern  Serbia,  but  we  heard  that  the  unit  which 
had  followed  us  had  actually  three  of  these  luxuries. 
Perhaps  they  would  lend  us  one.  Also  they  had  nurses 
— real  nurses — some  thirty  or  forty  of  them.  We 
thought  surely  they  could  let  us  have  a  dozen,  and 
maybe  one  or  two  doctors.  We  were  all  so  tired,  all  so 
worn  out.  There  were  so  few  of  us  left,  and  here  we 
were  taking  on  the  responsibility  of  this  new  big 
hospital,  and  trying  to  run  it  on  proper  hospital  lines. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  END 

How  I  started  on  the  "  Forlorn  hope  " — Nish  and  Stallash — How  I 
made  friends  with  a  Jew  pedlar  and  a  Professor  of  Geology — The 
Inn  at  Krushevatz  and  the  little  Austrian — The  episode  of  the 
chambermaid  and  the  old  Roumanian — Vrintski — The  Villa  Agnes 
and  the  two  British  units — Failure — A  happy  meeting  with  the 
English  Professor — The  curious  behaviour  of  the  guard — A  "Slava" 
night — Nish  and  the  Hunter  Mission — A  night  with  the  Austrian 
spy — Taking  on  the  Typhus  Hospital — The  fate  of  the 
'*  Magaziner  " — We  gather  up  the  remnants  of  the  unit — The 
Little  Red  Woman,  boots  and  the  O.C.P.  of  W.  Camp — How  the 
end  came. 

I  REMEMBER  I  felt  very  depressed  about  that 
journey.  It  was  the  last  week  in  February ;  I  had 
been  badly  exposed  to  typhus  some  time  pre- 
viously, and  was  due  to  develop  symptoms  in  two  days, 
supposing  I  had  caught  the  disease. 

I  dreaded  falling  ill  amongst  strangers  who  could  not 
speak  my  language,  hated  the  thought  of  being  pushed 
into  some  unclean,  horribly  overcrowded  hospital  to 
die,  felt,  in  fact,  that  I  would  give  anything  not  to  go. 

But  things  dreaded  are  always  worse  in  anticipation 
than  in  realization.  When  I  got  to  the  station  I  found, 
to  my  great  joy,  there  was  actually  an  "  International 
Wagon-lit  "  on  the  train,  part  of  the  equipment  of  the 
old  Orient  Express  which  ran  to  Constantinople  in  the 
days,  now  so  distant,  when  war  was  not,  and  frontiers 
merely  map-readings  in  a  Baedeker,  interesting,  of 
course,  but  of  no  practical  importance  from  the 
traveller's  standpoint. 

The  mind  is  very  much  affected  by  material  things. 
When  I  found,  in  addition,  a  really  clean  compartment 
s  273 


274  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

with  fresh  linen  sheets  and  a  genuine-looking  steward 
with  a  "  Merci,  Monsieur  "  manner,  the  burden  of  my 
forebodings  almost  slipped  from  me. 

Sharing  my  cubicle  was  a  Serbian  officer  who  had 
just  returned  "from  Italy.  He  produced  a  Daily 
Telegraph,  not  fourteen  days  old  ;  and  now  I  was  almost 
hysterical  with  joy.  I  can  still  remember  how  eagerly 
I  devoured  the  literary  page.  It  was  like  manna  in  the 
wilderness,  water  in  a  thirsty  land.  There  were  things 
about  the  War,  too — we  had  again  captured  five  yards 
of  a  German  trench,  and  the  Bosch,  in  consequence,  was 
on  the  verge  of  collapse.  There  were  advertisements  of 
theatres  and  concerts,  drapery  sales  and  auctions.  I 
can  still  see  myself  lying  in  my  bunk  reading  them  all 
avidly,  while  my  Serbian  friend  talked  garrulously.  It 
brought  me  back  into  a  clean,  sane  world.  I  felt  my 
sense  of  proportion  returning.  After  all  there  were 
other  things  than  typhus  in  life.  I  fell  asleep  hugging 
that  thought,  and  woke  up  at  Nish  in  the  morning. 

My  final  destination  was  a  summer  resort  on  the 
Western  Morava,  called  Vernjatskabanya,  where  there 
is  a  famous  hot  spa.  Here  the  Serbian  Government  had 
stationed  our  No.  2  British  Red  Cross  Mission,  and  the 
Berry  Unit  of  the  Royal  Free  Hospital.  The  place  was 
on  a  branch  line  running  towards  the  Bosnian  frontier, 
and  I  had  been  told  in  Uskub  I  should  have  to  wait  a 
day  in  Nish  before  I  could  get  a  connection.  The 
stationmaster  at  Nish,  however,  thought  otherwise. 
There  was  a  train  to  Stallash  at  10  a.m.,  he  said;  and 
after  that  I  should  have  to  trust  to  luck.  I  had 
arranged  to  pick  up  an  interpreter  at  the  Ruski  Tzar, 
and  take  him  on  with  me.  I  therefore  hurried  in  a 
fiacre  to  the  hotel,  ordered  breakfast  and  asked  for  my 
interpreter.  Of  course  he  was  not  there,  and  I  decided 
not  to  wait  for  him.  Ten  o'clock,  accordingly,  found 
me  back  at  the  station  and  in  the  Belgrade  train,  which 
presently  began  to  rumble  slowly  northward. 

Everyone  is  very  friendly  in  Serbia.       Two  officers 


276  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

shared  their  lunch  with  me.  It  consisted  of  cubes  of 
boiled  pork  and  slabs  of  bread,  washed  down  with  rough 
red  wine.  It  was  an  excellent  lunch,  and  all  went  well 
until  we  arrived  at  Stallash  about  1.80  in  the  afternoon. 
Here  I  had  to  change  and  say  farewell  to  my  kind 
friends,  who  were  proceeding  onwards  to  the  Danubian 
front.  And  now  my  troubles  commenced.  There  was 
no  train  to  Vernjatskabanya  (Vrintski)  until  the  next 
day,  and  I  was  stranded.  Stallash  was  simiply  a  junc- 
tion with  a  few  houses  and  a  disreputable,  overcrowded, 
flea-ridden  khan  (inn),  where  there  were  several  people 
lying  ill  with  typhus.  The  prospect,  therefore,  of  a  stay 
overnight  was  not  inviting.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  if 
necessary  I  would  sleep  in  the  station.  Luckily  I  had 
two  days'  rations  in  my  haversack,  and,  with  my  mess 
tin  and  blankets,  knew  I  could  be  quite  comfortable. 
I  proceeded,  therefore,  to  boil  some  coffee  on  a 
Tommy's  cooker,  and  made  another  excellent  meal. 

Thus  fortified,  things  seemed  to  brighten.  The 
people  around  became  more  interesting — peasant 
women  wrapped  up  in  sheepskin  coats,  ragged  soldiers 
in  sandalled  feet,  nondescript  civilian  refugees,  Austrian 
prisoners,  all  looked  more  companionable. 

I  made  friends  with  a  Jew  pedlar  who  spoke  bad 
French,  and  a  mild-looking  little  old  gentleman  with  a 
white  beard,  who  knew  a  little  English  and  turned  out 
to  be  the  Professor  of  Geology  in  the  University  of 
Belgrade. 

When  the  latter  heard  I  was  trying  to  get  to  what  the 
Serbs  called  "  Sir  Lipton's  Mission,"  he  became  most 
helpful.  The  Serbs  had  been  immensely  impressed  by 
Sir  Thomas  Lipton.  He  had  brought  out  the  No.  2 
British  Red  Cross  Unit  in  his  yacht,  and  this 
and  the  "  Berry  Unit  "  the  Serbs  persisted  in  calling 
after  his  name,  as  they  were  both  in  the  same  place. 
The  Professor  knew  all  about  them.  He  confirmed 
what  I  had  gathered  from  the  stationmaster,  that  I 
could  not  get  to  Vrintski  (Vernjatskabanya)  before  the 


THE  END  277 

next  afternoon,  but  suggested  I  could  go  on  to  the  city 
of  Krushevatz,  more  than  half  way,  stop  in  one  of  the 
hotels  there  overnight,  and  finish  the  rest  of  the  journey 
next  morning.  There  was  a  train  to  Krushevatz  at 
4.30,  and  he  was  going  there.    If  I  liked,  etc.    I  did  like. 

We  travelled  cheerfully  in  the  guard's  van,  the  Pro- 
fessor and  I,  the  little  Jew  pedlar  who  stuck  to  us  with 
the  submissive  pertinacity  of  his  race,  and  a  large  over- 
flowing gentleman,  very  frightened  of  typhus,  who 
sprinkled  his  clothes  frequently  with  powdered  naphtha- 
Une  to  protect  himself  from  infection.  Krushevatz 
proved  to  be  a  largish  place  of  no  particular  beauty, 
situated  on  a  hill  overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Western 
Morava.  At  the  station,  where  there  were  a  lot  of 
Austrian  prisoners  lounging  about,  the  fat  man  and  the 
little  Jew  pedlar  disappeared.  The  Professor,  however, 
took  possession  of  me,  secured  a  boy  to  carry  my  kit 
bag,  and  took  me  with  him  to  what  he  stated  was  the 
only  possible  hotel. 

It  was  a  low  rambling  khan,  built  four-square  round 
a  courtyard  after  the  Turkish  manner.  A  harassed- 
looking  head  waiter,  obviously  an  Austrian,  received  the 
Professor's  request  for  a  room  for  me  with  visible  reluc- 
tance. I  do  not  know  what  was  said  to  him,  but  my 
friend  seems  to  have  enlarged  on  my  importance,  and 
eventually  he  relented.  It  might  be  managed.  There 
was  a  room  which  might  be  shared  with  a  chambermaid 
(sobarica)  and  another  visitor  (drugi  gospodin),  if  I 
did  not  object.  The  room,  it  appeared,  belonged  to  the 
chambermaid,  but  that  did  not  seem  to  matter.  I  said 
I  was  quite  content  to  share  the  room  with  the  "  drugi 
gospodin  "  if  I  did  not  have  to  share  the  bed.  That 
was  all  right.  There  was  a  second  bed,  but  there  might 
be  some  trouble  dispossessing  the  chambermaid  to 
whom  it  belonged,  and  who,  apparently,  had  not 
objected  to  the  drugi  gospodin,  an  old  man,  sleeping  in 
the  other.  I  said  I  would  chance  the  chambermaid, 
said  good-bye  to  my  kind  friend,  and  deposited  my  kit 


278  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

in  the  room,  which  turned  out  to  be  quite  clean,  had 
whitewashed  walls,  a  stone  floor  and  two  beds,  each 
covered  with  one  of  the  big,  multi-coloured,  padded 
quilts  characteristic  of  the  Levant. 

Then  I  went  back  to  the  long,  low  common  room  in 
the  front  of  the  house,  where  some  thirty  or  forty  men 
sat  eating  and  drinking  at  small  tables.  Most  of  them 
seemed  to  be  Serbian  and  Austrian  N.C.O.'s,  all  drink- 
ing amicably  together.  There  were  a  number  of 
civilians,  and  a  few  women.  In  my  British  uniform  I 
was  an  object  of  curiosity  to  them.  They  were  not 
quite  sure  of  me.     I  was  taken,  as  usual,  for  a  Russian. 

Presently  a  little  old  man  sidled  casually  into  the 
room,  looked  round,  came  leisurely  to  my  table  and 
sat  down.  He  began  to  talk  to  me  in  quite  fair  English, 
and  I  accepted  the  opening,  pleased  to  be  able  to  use 
my  native  tongue  again  after  twenty-four  hours  of  bad 
French  and  worse  Serbian.  Of  course  I  was  quite 
conscious  that  I  was  being  pumped  politely.  The 
military  authorities  were  very  much  on  the  alert  for 
spies.  We  were  not  far  from  the  Bosnian  frontier,  and 
they  wanted  to  know.  As  I  had  nothing  to  conceal,  I 
talked  quite  freely.  The  little  mian  grew  more  and 
more  friendly.  His  task,  he  found,  was  more  pleasant 
than  he  had  anticipated. 

By  now  the  low-raftered  room  was  getting  gradually 
more  and  more  crowded.  There  was  a  babel  of  con- 
versation. A  tall,  dark  Montenegrin,  his  little  red  cap 
somewhat  askew,  much  in  his  cups,  was  boasting  loudly 
of  the  number  of  men  he  had  killed,  and  displaying  a 
heavy  cavalry  sabre  which  he  said  he  had  taken  in 
mortal  combat  from  a  Turkish  officer.  Several 
Albanians  and  Vlachs  in  sheepskin  coats  were  drinking 
noisily  in  the  corner  behind  me.  The  smell  of  koniak, 
slevovitza,  rakiya,  stale  beer,  musty  garments  and  con- 
traband tobacco  grew  more  and  more  powerful.  People 
still  glanced  at  me  and  the  little  man  who  had  evi- 
dently been  sent  to  interrogate  me.       A  tall  young 


THE  END  279 

officer,  walking  with  exaggerated  steadiness,  came  over, 
glanced  contemptuously  at  my  companion  and  chal- 
lenged me  to  drink  with  him.  I  rose,  touched  his  glass 
with  mine,  smiled,  bowed  and  sat  down  again.  He 
returned  to  his  table,  satisfied.  I  gathered  that  he 
meant  to  convey  that  he,  at  any  rate,  was  quite  willing 
to  accept  me  as  a  comrade  and  a  friend  of  Serbia, 
without  question. 

By  now  I  began  to  feel  quite  sorry  for  the  little  man, 
growing  more  and  more  restive  opposite  me,  who  was 
evidently  not  in  his  element  in  this  drinking  den.  At 
length  he  suggested  that,  instead  of  having  supper  at  the 
inn,  I  should  go  to  his  house  as  a  guest.  I  agreed  at 
once. 

It  was  a  charming,  clean  little  place.  Everything 
was  shining — the  brass,  the  steel,  the  wood  stove,  the 
furniture,  the  stone  floor  covered  with  Turkish  rugs,  the 
bookshelves  lined  with  pleasant  companionable-looking 
books  glistening  in  the  lamp-light,  the  arm-chairs  in 
bright  chintz,  the  table  on  which  we  had  our  supper,  the 
china,  and,  last  of  all,  the  neat  little  flaxen-haired 
Gretchen,  cook,  housemaid  and  butler  all  combined, 
who  looked  after  it  all  and  him.  It  was  obviously  the 
home  of  a  scholar. 

I  began  to  see  where  I  was.  My  host  was  an  Austrian 
Jew  interned  with  his  little  maid,  cut  off  by  the  sudden 
vortex  of  war  from  his  wife  and  family.  He  had  lived 
for  years  in  Krushevatz,  and  could  talk  intelligently  on 
the  customs,  ceremonies,  ideals,  art  and  literature  of 
the  country.  I  had  a  most  pleasant  evening.  The 
little  maid  slipped  in  and  out,  put  food  before  us,  swept 
the  empty  dishes  away,  kept  the  wood  fire  going  quietly 
and  expeditiously.  And  all  the  while,  he  talked  with 
the  joy  of  a  bottled  man  finding  an  unexpectedly  appre- 
ciative listener.  I  asked  him  how  he  had  learned  to 
speak  English  so  well,  having  never  been  in  the  country. 
He  produced  an  edition  of  Dickens  with  English  and 
German  on  alternate  pages.     He  told  me  he  had  taught 


280  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

himself  in  this  way.  His  favourite  was  "  David 
Copperfield."  The  English  in  that  was  easier  to  follow 
than  in  most  of  the  others,  he  said ;  but  he  had  read 
them  all,  and  knew  much  more  about  them  than  I  did. 

When  at  length  I  rose  to  go,  he  pressed  me  to  stay 
the  night,  pointing  out  that  the  hotel  was  full  of  typhus, 
the  landlord  had  just  died  of  it,  and  everything  was 
suspect.  I  could  see,  however,  that  there  was  really  no 
extra  room  in  the  house,  and  satisfied  him  by  promis- 
ing to  come  to  breakfast.  Then  I  went  back  through 
a  cold  night  of  stars  to  the  khan. 

In  my  room  I  found  the  other  guest  just  about  to 
retire,  an  old  Roumanian  gentleman  with  a  high 
astrakhan  conical  hat  which  he  wore  even  in  bed.  He 
smiled  pleasantly  at  me,  wrapped  himself  in  his  quilt, 
and  lay  down  with  all  his  clothes  on.  I  decided  to 
imitate  him,  and  was  just  proceeding  to  do  so  when  the 
door  opened  and  a  large  pink-cheeked  Serbian  girl  came 
into  the  room  without  knocking.  This  was  the 
chambermaid  whose  bed  I  had  commandeered.  Appar- 
ently she  had  been  told  nothing  about  it,  and  the  old 
gentleman  seemed  very  much  amused  as  he  explained, 
whilst  I  sat  and  smiled  and  waited  to  see  how  she  would 
take  it.  At  first  she  did  not  like  it  at  all.  Then  she 
grew  more  calm ;  and  eventually,  as  a  way  out  of  the 
difficulty,  she  suggested  that  she  should  sleep  on  the 
floor.  To  that  the  old  man  agreed,  and  both  of  them 
seemed  surprisedly  amused,  in  consequence,  when  I 
gave  them  to  understand,  in  a  mixture  of  French,  Ser- 
bian, German  and  general  gesture,  that  I'd  rather  she 
didn't.  Finally,  I  made  her  understand  that,  if  there 
really  was  no  other  place  in  the  khan,  I  should  have  to 
sleep  on  the  floor  of  the  dining-room  and  let  her  have 
the  bed.  This  suggestion  seemed  quite  unexpected  to 
both  the  old  gentleman  and  the  girl,  and  eventually  we 
compromised.  She  said  she  could  sleep  with  one  of  the 
other  chambermaids ;  I  presented  her  with  a  large  slab 
of  "  Chocolate  Menier  "  and  two  silver  dinars,  and  she 


THE  END  281 

departed  smiling.  Then  I  bolted  the  door  firmly, 
turned  in,  top-boots  tunic  and  all,  and  listened  in  the 
darkness  to  the  old  gentleman  chuckling  away  to  him- 
self over  my  strange  behaviour. 

In  the  morning  when  I  woke  up  he  was  gone,  and  I 
found  I  had  been  wakened  by  the  entrance  of  the  smil- 
ing chambermaid  with  hot  water.  Apparently  she  bore 
me  no  ill  will,  for  she  packed  my  blankets  and  tackle 
deftly  in  my  kit  bag,  got  me  my  bill,  wished  me  God- 
speed, and  waved  her  hand  to  me  from  the  doorway  as 
I  walked  out  of  the  courtyard  into  the  morning  sun. 

I  have  often  wondered  since  how  she  fared  when  the 
Austrians  broke  through  and  captured  the  place  in  the 
following  autumn.  Well,  I  hope.  She  had  a  bright 
eye. 

Walking  through  Krushcvatz  in  the  early  morning,  I 
was  able  to  see  the  greater  part  of  the  city  on  my  way 
to  breakfast  with  the  interned  Austrian.  The  place 
stands  on  a  wind-swept  plateau,  overlooking  the 
Western  Morava.  It  has  some  fine  buildings,  nearly  all 
turned  into  hospitals  at  that  time,  and  one  large 
memorial  group  of  statuary  erected  to  the  memory  of 
that  legendary  figure  in  Serbia's  tragic  history,  Tzar 
Lazar,  vanquished  on  the  field  of  Kossovo,  on  the  fatal 
15th.  June,  1389.  It  is  a  date  which  has  become  part 
of  the  heritage  of  memory  to  every  Serbian  child,  for  it 
has  been  celebrated  in  cycles  of  epic  poems  by  wander- 
ing "  gooslars  "  at  fairs  and  in  the  winter  evenings 
throughout  the  five  hundred  years  that  followed.  It  is 
the  date  on  which  Serbia  lost  her  independence,  and 
passed,  apparently  for  ever,  under  the  misrule  of  the 
Ottoman  Turk. 

Looking  up  at  the  great  winged  figure  that  morning, 
I  hoped  that  these  free-loving  people  would  never  again 
fall  under  a  foreign  yoke.  Then  I  hastened  my  step, 
for  I  was  beginning  to  feel  very  hungry. 

An  excellent  breakfast,  served  by  the  deft-fingered 
Gretchen,   awaited  me.      The  little  Austrian  proved 


282  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

again  an  admirable  host.  I  knew,  of  course,  that  he 
had  to  report  on  me,  and  was  not  at  all  surprised, 
therefore,  when  he  suggested  I  should  pay  my  respects 
to  the  Town  Commandant  before  I  left.  So  we  set  out 
together,  and  presently  arrived  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 
When  we  were  ushered  into  the  "  presence,"  the  Com- 
mandant was  quite  courteous,  but  he  questioned  my 
host  very  sharply,  and  examined  my  papers  most  care- 
fully. Finding  everything  correct,  he  at  length  per- 
mitted himself  to  smile.  The  little  man,  I  gathered, 
had  not  been  allowed  to  move  more  than  a  mile  from 
the  city  since  August  1914.  Now,  as  a  reward  for  the 
able  manner  in  which  he  had  satisfied  the  authorities  I 
was  not  a  spy,  and  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  he 
was  given  a  permit  to  accompany  me  to  Vernjatska- 
banya,  and  we  went  off  to  the  train  together,  very 
cheerfully.  A  number  of  grey-coated  Austrian 
prisoners  were  working  in  the  station  yard,  unloading 
waggons.  One  of  them,  a  bright-eyed  happy-looking 
boy,  fell  into  conversation  with  me.  He  was  a  barber, 
he  said ;  his  last  job  had  been  in  Camden  Town,  and  he 
was  looking  forward  to  the  time  when  he  could  get  back 
there  again.  He  slept,  he  told  me,  in  a  truck  at  night, 
covered  by  a  tarpaulin,  and  infinitely  preferred  it  to  the 
stuffy  barracks  where  the  other  prisoners  herded 
together  for  warmth. 

"  No  fear,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  get  typhus; 
and  besides  I  can  have  a  bath  in  the  engine  tank  every 
day,  and  keep  clean.  These  others  are  dirty  Magyars. 
Me,  I  am  a  Croat,"  he  added,  smiling  delightfully  and 
showing  his  strong  white  teeth. 

I  gave  him  a  copy  of  the  Weekly  Times,  and  he  simply* 
devoured  it.  Probably  he  had  not  seen  a  paper  of  any 
sort  for  months.  As  the  train  began  to  steam  slowly 
from  the  station,  he  ran  after  us. 

"  So  long !  "  he  cried.     "  See  you  in  London  soon  !  " 

I  sometimes  wonder  what  became  of  him.  Did  he 
escape  the  typhus  ?      How  did  his  youthful  optimism 


THE  END  283 

survive  the  next  four  years  ?  Where  is  he  now,  if  he 
survived  ?     I  hope  he  has  come  through. 

The  ride  to  Vrintski,  the  short  name  for  Vernjatska- 
banya,  was  without  incident.  I  found  that  the  town 
itself  was  some  two  miles  from  the  station,  and  con- 
sisted mainly  of  red-roofed  villas  and  summer  hotels. 
Built  and  exploited  by  Austrian  capital  as  an  inland 
watering-place  in  the  years  before  the  war,  it  looked  to 
me,  fresh  from  the  squalor  of  Uskub,  like  a  paradise 
amongst  the  pine-clad  hills.  The  whole  place  was  so 
home-like  it  almost  seemed  unreal.  At  the  Villa  Agnes, 
where  Captain  Bennett,  at  that  time  head  of  the  No.  2 
Red  Cross  Mission,  had  his  headquarters,  I  felt  like 
rubbing  my  eyes  to  see  if  I  were  not  dreaming  I  was  in 
Wimbledon. 

There  was  a  garden  and  railings,  steps  up  to  the  door, 
a  bell,  a  real  hall  and  staircase,  and  even  "  modern 
conveniences  " — the  first  I  had  seen  in  Serbia.  It  was 
almost  unbelievably  comfortable  in  a  Mid-Victorian 
way. 

And  then  their  hospital,  the  "  Zlalibor,"  a  converted 
hotel,  and  the  trim  nurses,  the  orderlies,  sixty  of  them, 
the  stores,  drugs,  dressings,  real  splints.  X-ray  plant, 
bedding,  linen,  all  the  outfit  of  a  first-class  hospital — it 
made  my  heart  ache  with  envy.  And  two  motor  cars — 
an  ambulance  and  a  lorry.  I  thought  of  our  poor  old 
ramshackle  wagonette,  in  which  six  to  eight  cases, 
typhus,  small-pox,  diphtheria,  typhoid,  relapsing, 
sitting  up  huddled  close  together,  would  be  driven  in  the 
rain  by  a  ragged  little  urchin  to  the  Polymesis.  I 
thought  of  our  hundreds  of  cases  with  practically  no 
nursing.  I  thought  of  the  pitiful  little  tray  of  tablets 
we  had  for  medicine,  of  the  total  absence  of  splints,  of 
the  non-existence  of  linen,  of  all  the  thousand  and  one 
things  we  hadn't  got,  and  wanted  so  badly. 

The  afternoon  I  spent  going  round  the  "  Terapia," 
the  hospital  of  the  "  Berry  Mission,"  after  I  had  seen 
that  of  our  No.  2  Unit. 


284  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

I  can  well  remember  that  evening,  talking  in  a  circle 
round  the  firelight  in  Mr  Berry's  mess,  telling  them  of 
what  we  were  doing,  of  what  we  were  up  against,  of  the 
hopeless  inadequacy  of  our  resources.  Looking  back 
on  it  now,  I  feel  that  I  must  have  appeared  almsost 
hysterical  to  them.  I  wanted  help  so  badly.  They 
had  all  the  facilities.  It  seemed  to  me  the  obvious 
thing  that,  instead  of  being  where  they  were,  they 
should  have  been  with  us  in  the  thick  of  it.  To  me  it 
appeared  that  they  were  on  a  side  track,  playing  with 
the  thought  of  work,  looking  for  interesting  surgical 
cases  which  they  would  treat  on  the  leisurely  sound 
English  lines  to  which  they  were  accustomed  at  home. 
It  seemed  to  me  they  were  dodging  their  responsibilities. 
I  thought  there  would  be  no  surgical  work  for  them, 
that  they  would  rust  from  disuse,  that  to  keep  them 
where  they  were  was  a  scandalous  waste  of  good 
material,  badly  required  elsewhere. 

Looking  back  on  it  now,  with  the  later  experience  of 
four  years  spent  largely  in  administration,  I  recognize 
that  I  was  wrong.  There  was  work  and  to  spare  for  all 
of  them  where  they  were — their  records  afterwards 
proved  that  this  was  so.  Unused  as  yet  to  the  swift 
changes  of  war,  where  one  day  there  is  nothing,  and  on 
the  next  one  is  overwhelmed  with  work,  I  did  not  grasp 
the  strategic  intentions  of  the  Serbian  Government  in 
placing  them  there.  I  did  not  understand  then  the 
wisdom  of  keeping  units  up  to  full  strength  to  cope 
with  every  emergency.  I  would  have  taken  half  of 
them  at  once,  and  used  them  uselessly,  trying  to  stem 
the  typhus  flood,  throwing  useful  lives  away  in  a  hope- 
less attempt  to  achieve  the  impossible.  I  know  better 
now. 

But  to  me  at  the  time  the  whole  affair  was  a  fight  of 
individuals  to  save  individual  lives,  not  a  concerted 
attempt  to  save  thousands  by  proper  prophylactic 
methods — the  method  which  ultimately  proved  such  a 
marvellous  success  under  Colonel  Hunter's  scheme.     I 


THE  END  285 

own  now  I  was  utterly  wrong,  but  at  the  time  I  was 
bitterly  disappointed. 

A  number  of  nurses  came  to  me  privately,  brave, 
wonderful  women  that  they  were,  and  said  they  would 
gladly  volunteer  if  I  asked  for  them.  One  fine  young 
woman,  Dr.  Chick,  told  me  she  would  come  back  with 
me  if  her  unit  would  release  her.  But  I  could  not 
accept  the  responsibility  of  this.  Neither  of  the  units 
could  help  me  officially  with  doctors,  nurses  or  stores, 
and  I  would  not  ask  for  them  unofficially.  I  left,  there- 
fore, for  Uskub  on  the  following  morning,  having 
accomplished  nothing,  feeling  utterly  defeated  and 
despondent. 

It  was  a  beautiful  clear  spring  morning  when  I  set 
out,  and  there  was  an  air  of  sleepy  calm  about  the  clean 
little  town,  with  its  red  roofs  nestling  in  the  green, 
which  made  it  seem  curiously  detached  from  the  hurry 
and  squalor  of  war,  the  horrible  sickening  odour  of 
disease,  the  rush  and  turmoil  of  endeavour.  One  could 
have  dreamt  happily  amongst  these  hills,  happily  in  a 
fearful  way  because  of  the  known  unrest  outside  the 
charmed  circle. 

I  had  ordered  a  carriage  to  take  me  over  the  two 
miles  of  muddy  track,  they  called  a  road,  to  the  station. 
It  had  been  very  carefully  ordered.  I  had  been  assured 
by  no  less  a  person  than  the  Town  Major  that  it  would 
be  punctual.  Characteristically,  of  course,  it  never 
turned  up,  and  I  was  proposing  to  walk  with  my  kit 
bag  over  my  shoulder,  accompanied  by  the  little  Aus- 
trian, when  I  heard  myself  being  hailed  by  a  friendly 
voice  from  a  passing  fiacre,  asking  if  I  wanted  a  lift. 
It  was  an  old  friend,  Professor  Wiles  of  the  Paget  Unit, 
who  had  wandered  into  the  town  on  the  night  before, 
and  was  returning  that  day  to  Nish. 

Have  you  noticed,  when  things  appear  at  their  worst, 
how  something  turns  up  unexpectedly  and  the  sun 
comes  out  again  ?  I  had  been  dreading  that  long 
thirty-six  hours  to  Nish,  alone  with  my  sense  of  failure. 


280  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

wisfiing  it  was  over,  wishing  I  had  never  comie,  irritated 
extremely  by  that  hist  straw,  tlie  non-appearance  of  my 
carriage.  And  here  was  carriage  and  cheerful  com- 
panionship and  good  talk  all  in  one.  My  spirits 
recovered  rapidly. 

The  Professor,  after  his  agglutinative  manner,  had 
picked  up  another  companion,  an  odd-looking  little 
waiter  from  one  of  the  hotels,  whose  only  baggage 
seemed  to  be  an  atomiser  filled  with  some  antiseptic 
fluid  with  which  he  continually  sprayed  himself,  and 
wished  to  spray  us  also,  assuring  us  it  was  a  sovereign 
specific  against  the  typhus.  Of  course  it  was  quite  use- 
less, but  it  gave  him  a  blind  courage,  and  that  in  itself 
was  a  valuable  asset. 

We  dropped  the  little  Austrian  at  Krushevatz  with 
many  polite  regrets,  and  travelled  on  gaily  to  Stallash 
again.  The  Professor,  talking  fluent  Serbian,  collected 
everyone  within  hearing  distance  round  him  by  his 
kindly  enthusiastic  aura.  With  such  a  companion 
one's  journey  was  a  sort  of  Royal  progress.  We  talked 
and  laughed  and  ate  each  other's  luncheons — the  inevit- 
able bread,  salt  boiled  bacon  and  red  wine — seated  in  a 
cattle  truck  labelled  "  Chevaux  10  hommes  40,"  a  form 
of  conveyance  with  which,  later,  millions  of  British 
army  men  must  have  become  only  too  familiar. 

At  Stallash  we  were  again  on  the  main  Belgrade- 
Nish  line ;  and  here  we  were  told  that  there  was  no  train 
onwards  until  the  next  day.  It  was  now  late  in  the 
evening,  and  the  Professor  and  I  began  to  wonder  where 
we  could  pass  the  night. 

Remembering  the  inn  just  behind  the  station  which 
I  had  seen  on  the  way  up,  I  thought  we  would  have  a 
look  inside.  We  found  it  crowded  with  unkempt  sol- 
diery; the  public  rooms  were  indescribably  filthy;  and 
they  said  there  was  tj'phus  in  the  house. 

"  It  seems  to  me.  Professor,  this  is  exactly  not  the 
place  to  stop,"  I  said. 

The  Professor  laughed  cheerily. 


THE  E\D  287 

*'  ^^^ly  should  we  stop  anywhere  !  "  ht-  cried.  '*  It  is 
a  beautiful  night,  mild  and  with  the  stars  for  guidance. 
Why  not  let  us  walk  into  the  clean  open  country  ? 
Tobacco  and  good  talk  will  be  our  company.  We  can 
come  back  at  dawn." 

I  looked  at  the  Professor,  a  large,  blond  man,  loosely 
built,  carelessly  dressed  and  full  of  enthusiasm.  It 
was  just  such  a  proposal  as  I  should  have  expected 
from  him.  As  for  me,  I  had  such  a  horror  of  typhus  I 
dreaded  sleeping  in  any  strange  bed,  and  the  idea  there- 
fore appealed  strongly  to  me. 

"  Why  not  ?"  I  exclaimed.     And  so,  away  we  started. 

But  we  had  reckoned  without  the  military  machine. 
We  were  foreigners,  very  friendly  foreigners  no  doubt, 
but  still  it  would  do  no  harm  to  keep  an  eye  on  us — 
quite  unobtrusive — no  disrespect  meant — really  for  our 
safety.  Looking  back  on  it  now,  as  a  soldier,  I 
can  see  that  the  Commandant  at  the  station  was 
quite    right. 

No  sooner,  therefore,  had  we  started  out  than  an 
armed  figure  detached  itself  from  the  lounging  group 
outside  the  station,  and  followed  us  just  twenty  yards 
behind,  stopping  when  we  sto[)ped  to  light  our  pipes, 
moving  on  when  we  moved.  When  we  had  gone  per- 
haps half  a  mile  along  an  upward  climbing  road,  and 
had  reached  the  end  of  the  village,  a  sentry  challenged. 
We  answered  him  in  the  usual  manner,  and  the  sentry 
let  us  pass.     Then,  as  our  guard  reached  him  : 

"  What  is  it,  Stefan  ?''  he  said. 

"  Two  fool  Englishmen,  waiting  for  the  morning 
train,  whom  I  have  to  guard  all  night,"  answered  our 
follower  crossly.  The  Professor  grasped  my  arm  and 
chuckled  softly  as  he  interpreted. 

'"•  What  do  they  want  ?" 

"  The  good  God  knows.  My  orders  are  to  follow,  but 
not  molest  them,"  he  answered,  adding  rather  wearily  : 
"  I  wish  it  had  been  someone  else's  duty  to-night.  My 
wife  is  ill,  and  I  should  be  at  home  with  her." 


288  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

The  professor  swung  round  sharply.  He  had  followed 
the  conversation  easily,  and  now  lost  all  his  amusement. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  your  wife?"  he  said 
abruptly,  to  the  surprise  of  both  speakers. 

"  She  has  strong  fever  on  her  these  four  days,  and  the 
women  think  it  is  the  l^lack  typhus.  There  is  no  doctor, 
and  we  do  not  know  what  to  do  for  her,"  the  man 
answered  humbly. 

After  all,  our  guard  was  only  a  poor  distracted  hus- 
band, tricked  out  with  a  rifle,  kept  in  Stallash  probably 
because  he  was  not  fit  for  active  service  at  the  front. 
The  Professor  interpreted,  looked  at  me,  and  I  nodded. 

"  The  English  doctor  here  will  look  at  your  wife,"  he 
said. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  dozen  people  sitting  up  in  the 
big  comfortable  kitchen  when  we  entered.  They  were 
mostly  women,  and  they  talked  quietly  as  if  under 
tension. 

I  left  the  Professor  with  them  whilst  I  went  into  the 
bedroom  beyond  to  see  the  patient.  It  was  the  usual 
low-roofed  Serbian  bedroom  with  its  big  bed  covered 
with  gay  quilted  rugs,  its  oleograph  of  King  Peter,  its 
wood  stove  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  the  little 
"  Ikon  "  of  the  family  saint  in  one  corner  with  a  tiny 
burning  candle  floating  in  water  in  front  of  it. 

A  glance  at  the  woman  was  sufficient,  the  spotted 
rash  was  already  fully  developed.  But  I  took  her  tem- 
perature and  pulse,  listened  to  her  chest,  just  to  satisfy 
her  frightened  feverish  eyes.  The  relatives  in  the  kit- 
chen accepted  the  verdict  stoically.  No  doubt  they  had 
already  anticipated  it.  The  Professor  interpreted  while 
I  told  them  what  to  do,  ending  up  by  telling  them  I  had 
a  feeling  she  was  going  to  get  well.  It  was  then,  I 
think,  that  the  husband  broke  down.  We  left  him 
there,  his  post  as  guard  apparently  forgotten,  and 
prepared  to  go  out  into  the  night  again. 

But  by  now  the  Professor  had  made  friends  with 
everyone  in  the  kitchen,  the  fact  that  he  spoke  Serbian 


THE  END  289 

having  opened  every  house  in  the  village  to  him.  Invi- 
tations rained  on  us.  Finally  the  local  member  for 
the  Skupshtina  carried  us  off  to  a  '"  Slava." 

The  *•  Slava  "  is  an  institution  apparently  confined 
to  the  Slavonic  races.  There  is  nothing  quite  like  it 
amongst  Western  people,  the  nearest  approach  being 
the  birthday  celebrations.  Every  Serb  is  named  after 
some  patron  saint,  and  his  "  Slava  "'  therefore  falls  on 
the  Saint's  day. 

It  is  the  most  important  day  in  the  year  in  every 
household;  and  its  celebration  is  a  curious  mixture  of 
religious  rites  and  social  relaxation.  There  are 
elaborate  formulas,  greetings,  toasts,  all  stereotyped  by 
centuries  of  custom.  The  Professor  talked  to  me  of 
these  as  we  went. 

"  It  will  be  half  over,  I  am  afraid,  btfore  we  get 
there,"  he  said,  "  but  we  must  eat  of  the  Slava  cake, 
and  we  shall  be  in  time  for  some  at  least  of  the  '  seven 
great  toasts.'  It  will  keep  us  occupied  until  the 
morning." 

Presently  we  arrived  at  the  house,  and  our  sponsor 
called  out  loudly  through  the  open  door,  according  to 
the  accepted  formula  : 

*'  O  master  of  this  house,  art  thou  willing  to  receive 
guests  ?" 

An  old  man  came  out,  and  they  embraced.  We  were 
then  introduced,  and  according  to  instructions  I  said, 
after  the  Professor  : 

*'  May  thy  '  Slava  '  be  happy." 

To  this  the  reply  was  : 

**  And  may  thy  soul  be  happy  })cfore  God." 

"  Now  we  can  go  in,"  said  the  Professor. 

The  room  was  full  of  comfortable  looking  people 
sitting  round  a  long  table,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a 
tall  yellow  wax  candle.  The  eldest  daughter  of  the 
house,  a  comely  red-cheeked  damsel,  poured  water  over 
our  hands  and  proffered  us  a  towel.  We  were  then 
given  seats  ;  and  roast  pig  and  "  rakiya  "  (plum  whisky) 

T 


290  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

were  put  before  us.  Everyone  was  smoking;  everyone 
was  merry ;  no  one  seemed  to  have  a  care  in  the  world. 
The  contrast  with  the  scene  I  had  just  come  from  was 
complete. 

The  toasts  we  had  interrupted  recommenced. 
Apparently  every  Serb  is  a  natural  after-dinner  speaker, 
and  the  toasts  were  most  eloquent.  Eventually  our 
sponsor,  who  was  a  noted  orator,  rose.  It  was  evident 
the  guests  assembled  expected  something  extra  fine. 
They  got  it.  Even  the  Professor  became  enthusiastic, 
interpreting  as  it  caine.  It  was  a  lament  about  the 
war  and  the  unnatural  alliance  between  the  Austrian 
and  the  Turk,  the  Christian  and  the  Moslem. 

Always  the  Turk  had  been  the  hereditary  enemy,  and 
the  eyes  of  the  Serb  looked  ever  guardedly  towards  the 
East  from  whence  came  all  his  dangers.  Always  he 
had  felt  his  back  secure,  for  always  he  had  been  pro- 
tected, supported  from  the  West.  It  had  been  so  from 
the  earliest  times,  and  the  Serb  had  come  to  consider 
it  would  be  always  so,  unchangeable  as  the  stars  in  their 
courses.     And  now  they  were  fighting  the  West 

It  was  a  long  speech,  and  seemed  to  be  the  peroration 
of  the  banquet,  for  the  proceedings  terminated  soon 
after,  and  the  various  guests  began  to  make  farewell. 

Our  train  to  Nish  was  due  to  leave  at  4.30,  and 
though  we  were  pressed  by  our  kind  friends  to  remain, 
we  preferred  to  get  back  in  good  time. 

We  arrived  in  Nish  about  nine  in  the  morning,  and 
our  first  thought  was  for  breakfast.  We  therefore  made 
straight  for  the  Ruski  Tzar,  and  I  felt  that  my  adven- 
ture was  over.  I  had  been  there  so  often  now,  the  place 
was  almost  homielike.  I  even  knew  a  number  of  the 
habitues,  for  most  of  the  Correspondents  of  the  French 
and  English  papers  still  had  their  meals  there.  Break- 
fast over,  the  Professor  left  me  after  we  had  arranged 
to  lunch  together ;  and  I  spent  half  an  hour  smoking 
and  talking  leisurely  to  the  little  lame  correspondent  of 
the  Daily  Mail,  before  I  set  out  into  the  town. 


THE  END  291 

It  was  a  raw  March  morning  with  a  cutting  wind. 
There  was  a  powder  of  snow  on  the  streets,  and  I  was 
walking  slowly  along  thinking  of  where  I  could  buy 
some  copper  cauldrons  for  my  typhus  hospital,  when  I 
was  taken  completely  by  surprise. 

Standing  at  a  street  corner,  looking  rather  cold  and 
lost,  were  six  British  R.A.M.C.  officers,  all  young 
lieutenants,  very  smart  and  trim  in  their  neat  well-cut 
khaki,  making  me  feel  how  shabby  I  must  appear  in 
my  battered  old  Red  Cross  uniform. 

Evidently  they  had  arrived  that  morning.  I  fell 
upon  them  eagerly.  They  informed  me  they  were  part 
of  a  Sanitary  Mission  of  25  olficers,  under  the  command 
of  Colonel  William  Hunter,  sent  out  by  the  War  Office 
in  response  to  the  urgent  request  of  the  Serbian  Govern- 
ment. I  remembered  then  that  we  had  advised  that 
200  doctors  should  be  asked  for  from  France  and 
England,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  this  must  be  the 
British  response.  I  looked  at  these  clean-cut,  fresh- 
looking  boys,  and  wondered  what  earthly  use  they  could 
possibly  be.  I  own  I  was  bitterly  disappointed,  know- 
ing that  if  all  we  heard  were  true,  even  two  hundred  of 
them  would  not  be  anything  like  enough  to  handle  the 
masses  of  cases  reported. 

Now,  six  years  later,  I  can  freely  admit  I  was  wrong, 
for  the  twice-told  tale  of  the  wonderful  change  they 
wrought  on  the  whole  situation  is  known  to  every 
student  of  the  great  epidemic.  But,  at  the  time,  I 
thought  they  would  simply  be  wasted.  I  was  too  near 
the  work,  too  occupied  with  the  details  of  treatment, 
to  envisage  what  could  be  done  by  a  broad  policy  of 
preventative  administration  such  as  was  adopted,  and 
to  which  I  may  briefly  refer  later. 

I  made  friends  with  the  group ;  gave  them  such  local 
information  as  I  thought  would  be  useful ;  told  them 
where  they  could  exchange  their  sovereigns  for  thirty 
dinars  silver  instead  of  the  twenty-six  of  the  Official 
Serbian  Bank ;  and  arranged  to  meet  them  all  at  lunch 


292  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

at  the  Colonna  Restaurant  at  one  o'clock.     Then  I  went 
off  to  tackle  the  question  of  boilers. 

One  o'clock  found  me  at  the  Colonna,  where  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Colonel  Hunter  and  his  second-in- 
command,  Major  (afterwards  Lieut. -Col.)  Stammers, 
R.A  M.C.  In  addition,  I  discovered  representatives  of 
yet  another  Mission,  that  of  Dr.  Clemow,  late  of  the 
Embassy  at  Constantinople,  which  was  going  on  to 
Montenegro.  Altogether  some  thirty  British  doctors, 
with  Sir  Charles  Des  Gras,  our  Minister,  Colonel 
Harrison,  the  military  attache,  several  Serbian  War 
Ofiice  oflicials  and  Professor  Wiles  made  up  a  large  and 
cheery  company  ;  and  I  found  myself  recovering  con- 
siderably from  the  pessimism  of  the  morning. 

The  Montenegrin  unit,  under  the  capable  command 
of  Dr.  Clemow,  was  going  by  rail  to  Uzitze,  near  the 
Bosnian  frontier,  and  from  there  proposed  to  trek  Ijy 
ox-wagon  across  Novibazar.  As  they  would  be  retrac- 
ing the  journey  I  had  just  made,  the  Professor,  who  was 
returning,  offered  to  go  with  them  as  far  as  Vrintski ; 
and  I  left  them,  therefore,  sight-seeing  in  the  afternoon, 
and  went  to  the  office  of  the  Command  to  arrange  for 
my  berth  on  the  Wagon-lit  that  night  to  Uskub.  A 
knowledge  of  Serbian  methods,  however,  made  me  go 
down  to  the  station,  an  hour  before  the  train  left,  to  see 
that  my  berth  was  really  reserved.  It  was  lucky  I  did, 
for  the  same  berth,  I  found,  had  been  given  to  a 
member  of  the  Rockefeller  Mission,  and  on  comparing 
notes  I  found  he  had  priority.  A  little  backsheesh 
worked  the  oracle,  however.  I  was  given  another 
berth,  being  most  careful  not  to  enquire  to  whom  it 
really  belonged,  and  found  myself  fellow  passenger  with 
a  gentleman  from  Sofia,  who  told  me  he  was  a 
Roumanian.  Perhaps  he  was.  At  any  rate  we  talked 
pleasantly  in  bad  French  as  the  train  sped  onwards 
in  the  night,  and  he  plied  me  with  questions.  He  was 
of  a  most  enquiring  mind.  I  put  my  despatch  case 
down  on  the  little  table  between  our  berths,  and  went 


THE  END  298 

out  for  perhaps  ten  minutes  to  talk  to  the  American. 
When  I  returned  the  case  had  been  moved,  the  order 
of  the  contents  was  not  as  it  had  been,  and  my  com- 
panion was  half  asleep.  I  took  no  notice,  and  presently 
he  roused  up  ajjain,  and  we  restarted  talking. 
Casually  I  turned  the  conversation  on  to  the  ai)piillini^ 
state  of  disease  amongst  the  Austrian  prisoners,  telling 
him  of  the  many  thousands  that  were  dead  and  dying 
amongst  them,  recounting  what  was  being  done  and 
how  much  was  being  left  undone.  I  could  see  he  was 
painfully  moved.  I  felt  sorry  for  him  ;  hut  he  should 
have  respected  my  private  belongings.  There  was 
nothing  of  any  interest  in  them  to  anyone  except  my- 
self, and  he  ought  to  have  known  that  no  one  except  a 
fool  would  have  left  important  documents  ari)und 
loosely  for  any  stranger  to  scrutinize.  I  must  have 
made  him  \ery  miserable  that  night. 

Afterwards,  1  heard  they  caught  him  at  the  frontier. 


I  had  been  nearly  a  week  away  from  I'skub  without 
any  news  of  our  unit ;  and  the  lirst  thing  1  did  was  to 
make  for  the  quarters  to  see  how  all  our  people  were. 

Barclay  and  the  Sister  met  me  smiling.  All  our  men 
were  out  of  danger.  Sherlock,  the  Little  Woman  and 
Steve  were  rapidly  recovering.  I  reported  the  non- 
success  of  my  mission  to  the  Chief,  but  apparently  he 
had  not  expected  much,  for  he  did  not  seem 
disappointed. 

Then  I  asked  for  all  the  latest  news,  and  found  that 
things  seemed  to  have  been  moving.  I  was  told  that  I 
really  could  take  over  my  new  hospital  next  day,  that 
everything  was  in  order,  and  patients  would  be  coming 
in  almost  immediately.  That  was  good.  I  also  heard 
that  a  completely  new  English  unit,  sent  out  by  the 
Serbian  Relief  Fund,  had  just  arrived,  and  were  look- 
ing for  a  suitable  building  in  which  to  start  a  hospital. 

That  evening  I  met  two  of  their  doctors  at  the  Con- 


294  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

sulate,  and  once  more  found  myself  explaining  that 
there  was  no  surgery,  and  if  they  really  wanted  to  be  of 
use  there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do  except  tackle 
typhus.  Apparently  they  had  been  round  that  day  and 
discovered  this  for  themselves,  but  were  not  yet  able 
completely  to  disassociate  their  minds  from  their 
original  idea. 

Next  morning,  Sister  Rowntree  and  I  drove  out  to 
take  over  our  typhus  hospital.  All  the  while  I  had 
been  away  at  Nisli  and  Vrintski,  the  Magaziner  and 
James  with  his  Austrian  orderlies  had  been  getting 
the  place  ready  for  us,  putting  in  the  beds,  filling  large 
canvas  sacks  with  straw  to  make  mattresses,  fitting  up 
cooking  arrangements,  collecting  pillows,  sheets, 
knives,  forks,  plates,  cups,  etc.,  from  Ordnance. 

We  had  thought  out  an  elaborate  plan  for  disinfect- 
ing each  patient  on  arrival,  so  that  we  could  start  the 
hospital  clean.  There  was  an  excellent  wash-house 
near  the  hospital,  in  which  the  troops  used  to  bathe,  a 
good  water  supply,  and  a  fair  quantity  of  wood  for 
heating  purposes.  It  was  arranged  that  patients, 
before  admission,  should  be  brought  to  the  wash-house, 
stripped  of  their  infested  garments,  have  a  hot  bath  and 
a  hair-cut,  be  clothed  in  clean  nightshirts,  and  then 
admitted.  Their  infested  clothing  was  to  be  labelled 
carefully,  boiled  in  carbolic  (our  only  method  of  disin- 
fection), dried  and  packed  away.  Everything  would 
then  be  ready  for  reissue  to  its  owner  on  discharge. 

All  the  men  in  charge  of  this  disinfecting  station  were 
to  be  Austrian  orderlies  who  had  recovered  from  typhus, 
as  obviously  the  risk  to  non-immune  persons  was  too 
great  to  be  permissible. 

Theoretically  it  sounded  perfect,  and  later  on  it 
worked  admirably,  but  unfortunately  the  patients  were 
ready  before  the  bathing  arrangements.  Thirty  cases, 
indeed,  arrived  on  our  first  morning,  and,  as  we  could 
not  wash  them,  we  had  to  content  ourselves  with 
smearing  themi  all  over  with  paraffin  oil,  cutting  their 


THE  EXD  293 

hair  to  get  rid  of  nits,  clothing  them  in  hospital 
pyjamas  and  admitting — hoping  for  the  best. 

When  I  first  discovered  we  could  not  wash  these  new 
arrivals,  I  turned  furiously  upon  James,  to  be  met  with 
the  excuse  that  the  Magaziner  had  not  been  near  the 
place  for  a  week,  and  he  could  get  nothing  done  with- 
out him.  I  sent  for  the  Magaziner  urgently,  the 
stout  bullet-headed  little  man  whom  I  had  left  in  charge 
of  the  Quartermaster's  duties  before  I  went  up  country 
less  than  a  fortnight  before.  I  remember  I  was  re- 
hearsing irritably  to  myself  what  I  would  say  to  him, 
how  I  would  deal  with  his  flimsy  excuses,  how  I  might 
best  pulverise  him,  when  the  answer  to  my  summons 
came  back  through  James  : 

**  Command  report,  sir,  that  our  Magaziner  died 
of  typhus  yesterday  morning,  and  a  new  one  will  be 
posted  to  duty  as  soon  as  possible." 

I  confess  I  felt  rather  sick  and  shaken  for  some 
moments.  I  had  liked  the  little  man.  He  had  done 
his  best  for  me.  He  had  died  at  his  post.  I  felt  glad 
we  had  parted  friends. 

But  meanwhile  the  work  had  to  be  attended  to,  the 
patients  fed,  arrangements  made  for  more  and  more 
arrivals,  indents  hurried,  a  lot  of  leeway  made  up. 
James,  perforce,  had  to  act  as  Quartermaster,  and  the 
Command  did  not  like  it,  for  he  was  only  an  Austrian 
prisoner.  But  they  found  it  impossible  to  get  us  a 
Serb  Magaziner  in  his  place.  No  one  wanted  the 
post.     It  was  too  dangerous.     And  so  he  carried  on. 

We  had  endless  troubles.  Cases  arrived  and  we  had 
beds  for  them  but  no  mattresses — we  could  not  get 
enough  straw.  Indents  for  food  supplies  had  to  be 
sent  in  the  day  before,  and  we  never  knew  how  many 
new  patients  were  coming.  Once  we  indented  for  100 
extra  diets,  and  got  two  hundred  new  admissions. 
Sometimes  wood  ran  out  and  we  could  not  warm  the 
place  or  cook  the  food.  Sometimes  oil  ran  out  and  we 
could  not  get  round  at   night  in  the  dark.       All  the 


290  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

troubles  a  good  Quartermaster  would  have  foreseen  and 
provided  against  happened  to  us,  for  besides  being  busy 
trying  to  treat  the  cases,  I  was  so  handicapped  by  in- 
ability to  speak  the  language  through  the  'phone  that 
I  could  not  get  what  I  wanted,  and  James  was  ignored 
when  he  complained  for  me. 

Still,  we  got  along.  The  Sister  and  I  had  now  settled 
in  our  new  quarters.  We  had  five  English  orderlies, 
and  over  a  hundred  Austrian  bolnitchers  all  of  whom 
were  supposed  to  have  had  typhus.  Some  of  them,  of 
course,  had  not,  and  got  it  at  once.  We  just  dumped 
them  in  with  the  other  patients  and  carried  on.  But  I 
had  a  feeling  all  the  time  that  the  job  was  too  much  for 
us.  We  were  tired  out.  We  had  no  real  hospital  re- 
quisites, no  nursing  staff,  no  decent  supply  of  drugs. 
We  felt  we  were  simply  housing  typhus,  not  treating  it. 
Two  of  the  doctors  of  the  unit  which  had  just  arrived 
came  round  the  wards  one  day  with  me,  when  I  was  in 
this  mood.  I  showed  them  some  of  the  more  interesting 
cases,  especially  those  with  gangrene  of  the  extremities, 
toes  and  feet,  ears  and  noses.  They  were  beginning  to 
get  fascinated  by  the  disease.  I  had  had  a  very 
worrying  day,  felt  very  tired,  knew  that  their  entire 
unit  was  simply  marking  time,  and  ended  by  suggesting 
that  by  far  the  best  thing  for  all  of  us  would  be  for 
them  to  take  over  our  whole  show,  and  let  us  go  home. 

Next  day,  however,  I  felt  better.  We  had  now  got 
three  large  kitchen  boilers  to  make  proper  stew  for  the 
patients.  I  found  to  my  surprise  that  twenty  Tzigane 
women  I  had  asked  for  had  actually  arrived  to  wash  the 
infected  garments,  and  there  was  at  length  enough  wood 
to  get  our  wash-house  started.  In  addition,  two  pounds 
of  tobacco  arrived  from  my  brother,  and  I  had  a  lot  of 
cheery  letters.  We  had  some  four  hundred  and  fifty 
typhus  cases  in  hospital,  and,  in  spite  of  everything, 
some  were  actually  getting  well. 

Life  was  not  so  bad  after  all.  I  actually  found  time 
to  go  for  an  afternoon  stroll  in  the  bright  spring  sun- 


THE  END  297 

shine.  It  was  a  lovely  day,  and  across  the  plain,  not  a 
mile  off,  was  a  long  old  Roman  viaduct  which  I  wanted 
to  explore.  So  I  walked  across  and  spent  a  happy  hour 
clambering  over  its  broken  arches,  examining  the  won- 
derful brick-work  still  as  tough  as  it  was  a  thousand 
years  before.  Some  old  almond  trees  grew  near.  They 
were  in  full  bloom,  and  I  came  back  with  my  arms  full 
of  branches  whose  sweet  smelling  blossoms  were  a  joy 
to  us  for  days  in  the  mess-room. 

Meanwhile,  our  old  friends,  the  Paget  Unit  (No.  1 
Serbian  Relief  Mission)  had  taken  over  the  building  next 
to  us,  and  some  barracks  across  the  campus  which  they 
proposed  to  run  as  a  typhus  hospital.  In  order  to  do 
this,  they  had  turned  half  their  unit  into  a  typhus  staff, 
leaving  the  rest  to  carry  on  their  old  surgical  hospital 
in  the  town.     This  made  us  feel  less  isolated. 

Next  day.  Lady  Paget,  who  had  been  helping  to  clean 
up  the  old  barracks  to  make  them  fit  for  patients,  de- 
veloped typhus  herself,  and  we  took  her  into  our 
quarters.  A  few  days  later,  Dr.  Knobel,  one  of  her 
unit  who  was  looking  after  refugees  in  the  town,  also 
got  the  disease,  and  in  he  came,  too.  We  thus  had  two 
acute  cases  in  our  quarters  ;  but  by  now  little  things  like 
that  did  not  disturb  us  much.  We  smeared  ourselves 
over  with  crude  paraffin  oil  from  head  to  toes  twice 
daily,  and  this  appeared  to  be  practically  a  specific. 
No  lice  would  touch  us.  We  reeked  of  paraffin.  It 
was  most  unpleasant,  but  it  seemingly  meant  safety. 
Indeed,  I  have  never  heard  of  anyone  using  it  conscien- 
tiously who  got  the  disease.  Most  of  the  nurses  of  the 
Paget  Unit  were  now  dressed  in  pyjamas,  wore  rubber 
boots  into  which  the  lower  ends  of  their  trouser  legs 
were  tucked,  had  rubber  gloves  which  went  over  the 
ends  of  the  sleeves,  and  wore  face  masks.  They  were 
therefore  practically  lice-proof.  We  seemed  now  to  be 
all  fairly  in  our  stride.  It  looked  as  if  we  would  be 
able  to  tackle  things  properly. 

And  then,  quite  suddenly,  the  number  of  admissions 


298  MY  BALKAN  LOCx 

began  to  decline ;  less  and  less  cases  arrived ;  we  had 
actually  a  few  spare  beds.  It  seemed  as  though  the 
crest  of  the  epidemic  had  been  reached,  and  it  was  now 
on  the  decline.  As  a  matter  of  fact  this  was  only 
partially  true.  The  great  prophylactic  measures  which 
were  being  started  in  upper  Serbia  could  not  at  that 
time  have  affected  us.  What  had  happened  was  that 
we  were  not  now  receiving  cases  from  up  the  line,  for 
all  traffic  on  the  railway  had  been  stopped,  and,  in  addi- 
tion, the  local  outbreak  in  Uskub  itself  was  lessening. 
All  this  we  learnt  of  later.  The  immediate  effect  on 
us,  however,  was  that  we  ceased  to  be  overworked,  and 
had  time  to  think  of  other  things. 

By  this  time  Sherlock  and  the  Little  Red  Woman  were 
quite  out  of  danger,  and  were  developing  enormous 
appetites.  Steve  also  was  convalescing,  and  all  our 
orderlies  had  practically  recovered.  It  seemed  a 
favourable  opportunity  to  close  our  old  quarters  in  the 
nunnery,  and  bring  the  rest  of  the  unit  up  to  this 
healthy  wind-swept  place.  We  therefore  got  them  up 
during  the  next  few  days — a  rather  white,  feeble-looking 
lot,  but  very  cheerful  and  full  of  thankfulness  to  be 
clear  of  it  all. 

Barclay,  thus  released,  was  able  to  help  me  in  my 
typhus  hospital ;  and  Sherlock,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  a  "  white  leg  "  after  the  typhus,  insisted  on 
supervising  the  disinfecting  station  where  patients  were 
washed  before  admission. 

The  Little  Red  Woman,  however,  did  not  rejoin  us. 
The  Major  had  forbidden  her  to  do  any  more  work  for 
three  months ;  and  to  prevent  her  attempting  anything 
he  took  her  into  his  own  house.  But  she  was  as  irre- 
pressible as  ever.  She  now  took  the  Austrian  prisoners 
under  her  wing,  and  made  herself  busy  advising  the 
Italian  Consulate  on  how  to  help  them,  for  Italy  was 
still  neutral  in  those  days,  and  her  Consul  had  been 
asked  to  look  after  the  interests  of  the  Central  Powers. 

W^e  had  heard  that  a  consignment  of  boots  and  other 


THE  END  299 

comforts  had  arrived  from  Salonika,  and  were  not  in  the 
least  surprised,  therefore,  when  one  morning  the  Little 
Red  Woman  arrived  with  a  fiacre  load  of  them  for  the 
prisoners  near  us,  which  she  proceeded  to  distribute 
forthwith.  This,  however,  did  not  please  the  official 
mind  of  the  O.C.  P.  of  W.  Camp.  He  said  the  boots 
must  go  into  the  magazine,  and  be  doled  out  to  the 
prisoners  as  required.  Back  went  the  Little  Woman 
hot  foot  to  the  G.O.C.,  General  Popovitch,  demanding 
the  head  of  the  O.C.  P.  of  W.  Camp  on  a  charger.  The 
General,  of  course,  smiled  at  her  and  told  her  to  do  as 
she  liked.  She  returned  in  triumph.  But  the  O.C. 
Camp  was  not  to  be  put  down  like  this.  He  asked  for  a 
written  order,  and  refused  to  allow  her  inside  his  camp 
without  one. 

'•  The  boots  belong  to  the  prisoners,  and  I  am  their 
official  custodian,"  he  said. 

The  Little  Red  Woman,  however,  was  not  going  to 
hand  over  valuable  boots  to  any  official.  She  wanted 
to  see  with  her  own  eyes  that  the  men  had  them,  and 
back  the  whole  consignment  went  to  the  Consulate 
again.  How  they  settled  the  quarrel  I  forget,  but  I  am 
quite  sure  the  Little  Woman  had  the  best  of  it. 

It  was  this  episode,  I  think,  which  reminded  me  of 
the  utter  lack  of  medical  attention  I  had  seen  in  this 
P.  of  W.  Camp  some  weeks  before,  and  now  that  work 
was  slackening  down  I  thought  that  something  could  be 
done  to  alleviate  it.  I  told  Dr.  Bellingham  Smith  of  the 
No.  2  Serbian  Relief  Unit  about  it.  We  went  over  to 
see  the  Commandant,  and  arranged  to  inspect  the 
prisoners  on  alternate  days,  sending  any  sick  man  we 
found  into  hospital.  I  believe  I  inspected  them  once. 
Things  seemed  to  me  to  be  going  on  splendidly.  And 
then  a  curious  thing  happened,  at  least  it  seemed  curious 
to  me,  but  the  others  said  they  had  been  expecting  it 
for  some  time. 

We  had  a  Serbian  officer  in  one  of  the  small  wards. 
He  was  a  big,  powerful  man,  and  had  nursed  his  father. 


800  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

his  mother  and  two  sisters — all  that  was  left  of  his 
family,  through  typhus.  Every  one  of  them  had  died, 
and  now  he  had  caught  the  disease  himself.  Unfor- 
tunately, every  time  James  or  any  of  the  Austrian 
orderlies  came  near  him,  he  became  almost  maniacal, 
for  the  sight  of  their  uniform  used  to  make  him  see  red. 
I  had  to  put  two  of  our  English  orderlies  on  him  con- 
tinuously, and  was  myself  up  two  or  three  nights  at 
frequent  intervals  helping  to  keep  him  in  bed.  I  had 
an  intense  desire  to  save  him ;  but,  of  course,  he  died. 

I  seemed  to  lose  grip  after  that.  I  had  seen  many  men 
die,  but  this  somehow  seemed  to  finish  me,  and  quite 
suddenly,  to  my  surprise,  I  broke  down.  I  suppose  I 
must  have  been  very  much  overworked.  I  had  lost  four 
stone  in  weight  in  two  months,  and  could  not  eat. 

I  asked  Barclay  to  take  over  for  a  few  days ;  and  now 
the  No.  2  Serbian  Relief  Unit  made  a  definite  offer  to 
relieve  us  of  our  work. 

The  date  of  our  contract  was  up ;  but,  of  course,  we 
knew  that  the  British  Red  Cross  would  renew  it  if  we 
wished  to  remain.  We  had  a  consultation  over  it.  The 
position  was  that  the  Chief  must  soon  return  in  any 
case.  Barclay,  on  the  other  hand,  wanted  to  remain. 
Sherlock  and  Steve,  we  knew,  would  be  useless  for  any 
hard  work  for  some  months.  Sister  Rowntree  had  a 
brother  in  the  Paget  Unit  who  was  going  home ;  she  had 
her  own  work  in  London  calling  her ;  and,  if  the  rest  of 
us  decided  to  return,  she,  too,  was  quite  willing. 

When  I  was  at  Vrintski  I  had  been  offered  command 
of  the  No.  2  British  Red  Cross  Unit,  but  felt  at  the  time 
I  could  not  undertake  the  post  with  justice  to  them  or 
myself.  I  had  talked  the  matter  over  with  Captain 
Bennett,  the  head  of  the  unit,  who  was  returning  home, 
and  suggested  he  should  offer  it  to  Barclay.  Now  that 
we  seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  breaking  up,  Barclay 
was  inclined  to  accept. 

Before  deciding  anything,  however,  we  thought  we 
had  better  ask  the  men  what  they  would  like  to  do. 


THE  END  301 

They  all  said  they  would  like  to  return,  none  of  them 
wished  to  sign  on  again.  The  unit  in  fact,  as  a  driving 
force,  was  dead.  The  men  were  tired.  We  were  all 
tired. 

It  was  decided  that  Barclay  should  accept  the  post 
offered  him,  and  Steve  and  Sherlock,  if  they  liked,  could 
go  up  with  him  there  to  convalesce. 


The  end  came  quite  quietly,  and  yet  suddenly. 
There  was  hardly  a  word  from  anyone.  We  just 
melted  away  like  passengers  from  a  ship  after  a  long 
voyage.  The  men  were  sent  to  quarters  in  the  town. 
I  took  over  the  Chief's  rooms  in  Uskub  for  a  day  or  so. 
Sister  Rowntree  went  to  a  hotel.  We  spent  a  morning 
getting  passports  vised  at  the  French  and  Italian 
Consulates,  and  collecting  our  kit.  We  called  formally 
on  various  Serbian  friends,  and  took  an  emotional  fare- 
well of  our  old  Commandant,  Major  Suskalovitch. 
There  was  a  final  little  dinner  at  the  Drinoski,  and  we 
were  ready  to  leave. 


A  lot  of  people  camie  to  see  us  off.  Two  of  the  Paget 
Unit  were  also  coming  with  us.  The  Little  Red  Woman 
was  on  the  platform,  but  she  refused  to  say  good-bye. 

'•  I  am  coming  to  Salonique,"  she  said.  "  It  will  be 
some  days  before  that  you  can  sail.  I  will  be  there  to 
say  '  Spogum  '  (farewell)." 


The  train  rumbled  through  the  night.  Sister 
Rowntree,  her  brother,  two  nurses  and  I  were  in  the 
Wagon-lits.  I  could  not  sleep.  I  could  not  believe  it 
was  all  over.  I  lived  again  and  again  through  the 
months  that  had  passed ;  but  towards  morning  I  dozed 
off,  to  wake  at  the  frontier. 

A  smart  little  Serbian  officer  came  in  to  see  me.     He 


802  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

was  very  spick  and  span,  very  bright  and  cheery.  It 
was  six  months  since  I  had  seen  him  on  the  way 
through.  He  was  just  the  same.  He  brought  me  a  pile 
of  English  illustrated  papers.  They  were  addressed  to 
all  sorts  of  people,  but  that  did  not  worry  him  in  the 
least.  Apparently  he  took  what  he  wanted,  and  sent 
on  what  he  did  not  fancy. 

"  Will  you  be  coming  back  to  Serbie  ?"  he  asked 
politely. 

"  Perhaps,"  I  answered.     "  Next  year." 

"  Ah  !  A  year's  time.  It  will  be  all  over  then.  In 
two  months  the  Russians  will  be  in  Buda-Pcsth,"  he 
retorted. 

How  little  he  or  I  knew.     That  was  in  March  1915. 


Fourteen  days  later  we  were  in  London. 


Finis. 


EPiL(x;rE 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THEM  ALL 


EPILOGUE 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THEM  ALL 

"  1  A  UT,"  said  Lilange,  after  she  had  read  the 
i-"^  manuscript    through,    "  you    can't    leave    off 

.M^J  like  this.  I  want  to  know  what  became  of 
all  these  people.  I  want  to  know  did  the  Little  Red 
Woman  really  see  you  off  at  Salonika.  I  want  to  know 
what  happened  to  Steve.  I  want  to  know  how  the 
epidemic  was  stopped.     I  want —  " 

"  You're  asking  really  for  another  book,"  I  said. 
*'  But  I  can  probably  tell  you  all  you  need  know,  quite 
shortly.  The  Little  Woman  did  arrive  in  Salonika  in 
time  to  see  us  off.  We  had  considerable  trouble,  how- 
ever, before  we  got  there.  The  Greeks  were  badly 
frightened  by  the  epidemic,  and  treated  us  all  as 
pariahs.  We  were  stopped  at  Guminitza,  the  "station 
sanitaire  "  on  the  frontier,  and  everyone  had  to  get  out 
and  be  medically  inspected.  The  doctor  wasn't  a  bad 
fellow,  but  he  knew  nothing  of  typhus,  obviously,  for 
he  looked  for  all  the  wrong  things.  Then  our  kit  bags 
were  taken  by  dirty  porters  to  a  big  steam  steriliser  just 
off  the  platform,  and  everything  in  them  baked  for  ten 
minutes.  It  was  quite  a  useless  precaution,  because, 
although  they  spoiled  all  my  leather  things  and  melted 
my  top-boots  into  a  pasty  mass,  they  never  thought  of 
sterilising  the  clothes  we  wore,  which  probably  were 
much  more  dangerous. 

"Eventually  we  were  allowed  to  proceed;  but  at 
Salonika  we  were  again  inspected,  our  names  and  tem- 
porary addresses  taken,  and  we  were  told  to  report  each 
morning  at  the  Public  Health  Department  for  the  next 
u  305 


306  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

ten  days.  I  went  there  the  following  day  as  instructed. 
On  the  day  after,  the  Little  Red  Woman  arrived  and  we 
went  together.  But  on  both  occasions  the  authorities 
seemed  so  surprised  I  should  have  troubled  to  do  so,  I 
didn't  go  again.  Nothing  happened,  and  we  sailed  five 
days  later. 

"  The  Little  Red  Woman  dined  with  us  on  the 
Messageries  Maratimes  boat  on  the  night  we  left  for 
Marsailles;  and  the  last  we  saw  of  her  was  a  small, 
rather  pathetic  figure  in  the  moonlight,  waving  a 
handkerchief,  and  calling  ^Spogum — spogum — spogum!' 
from  the  pier. 

"  Afterwards  we  heard  of  her  at  intervals  from 
Moscow,  from  Riga,  and  finally  from  Georgia — always 
keen,  always  active,  always  working  in  the  most  im- 
possible places.  Now  none  of  us  have  heard  of  her 
for  over  two  years,  and  I  wonder.  I  hope  that  all  is 
well  with  her — but  I  wonder. 

"  Barclay  made  a  success  of  our  No.  2  Unit  at  Vrintski 
until  the  place  was  captured  by  the  Austrians  in  the 
great  debacle  of  October  1915.  Later  he  was  re- 
patriated through  Switzerland. 

"  Sherlock  you  have  seen.  He  came  through  the 
awful  retreat  across  Albania  unscathed,  and  was  later  on 
in  Mesopotamia. 

"  Stretton,  the  first  to  leave  us,  nearly  died  of  a 
fourth  attack  of  relapsing  fever  on  the  way  home;  so 
we  were  very  glad  we  had  not  kept  him  until  the  typhus 
came.  But  the  old  war-horse  would  not  be  satisfied.  I 
met  him  once  again  in  uniform  in  Egypt. 

"  Sister  Rowntree  you  know  all  about.  We  saw  her 
only  a  few  weeks  ago,  looking  as  if  she  had  never  heard 
of  Serbie  or  typhus. 

"  And  the  epidemic.  Well,  I  can  give  you  some 
figures  now.  There  were  half  a  million  cases  in  the 
three  months  of  January,  February  and  March,  and 
over  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  deaths — all  this 
in  a  population  less  than  half  that  of  London.      But 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THEM  ALL    307 

during  the  next  three  months  the  epidemic  was  prac- 
tically killed,  simply  by  getting  rid  of  the  lice  which  it 
is  now  known  carry  the  disease  from  contact  to  contact. 
The  English  epidemic  of  1865  lasted  eighteen  months, 
although  it  was  quite  a  trivial  affair  in  comparison.  So 
you  see  what  can  be  done  when  the  cause  is  known. 

"  The  way  they  set  about  it  was  quite  simple.  First 
they  stopped  all  passenger  trains  and  all  Army  leave 
for  a  month,  so  that  infected  soldiers,  refugees, 
peasants,  prisoners  of  war  could  not  travel  up  and  down 
the  line  all  over  the  country  spreading  the  disease. 
During  this  period  the  railway  carriages  and  stations 
were  disinfected,  in  order  that  everything  could  restart 
free  from  disease.  Meanwhile  also  the  Army  was 
tackled.  A  big  disinfecting  station  was  started  at 
Mladenovac,  and  disinfecting  trains  travelled  up  and 
down,  delousing  by  steam  sterilization  the  uniforms  and 
equipment  of  all  the  men  in  the  front  line.  At  the  same 
time  disinfecting  plant  was  built  in  all  towns  and 
villages,  and  everyone  had  their  clothes  deloused. 

"  The  consequence  was  that,  though  at  the  beginning 
of  March  there  were  one  thousand  five  hundred  fresh 
admissions  to  hospital  daily,  in  less  than  three  weeks 
they  were  down  to  five  hundred,  and  in  a  month  to  one 
hundred.  The  disease  was  wiped  out — and  all  so 
simply.  It  took  one  big  mind  to  devise,  thousands  of 
willing  workers  to  execute,  and  the  thing  was  done. 

"  In  its  way,  it  is  one  of  the  most  dramatic  triumphs 
of  mind  over  disease  that  has  ever  been  achieved."* 

"  Yes,  it  sounds  rather  wonderful,"  said  Lilange 
softly.     "  But  what  a  horror,  what  an  awful  horror  !  " 

There  was  a  pause  for  some  little  time.  I  was  think- 
ing back,  and  I  fancy  she  did  not  like  to  break  in  too 
abruptly.     But  presently  she  said  : 

*  The  technical  reader,  who  wishes  to  know  more  about  it,  should 
consult  Col.  Hunter's  account  in  the  "  Proceedings  of  the  Royal 
Society  of  Medicine  "  Vol.  XIII.  No.  2,  Dec.  1919,  or  the  volume  on 
"  Typhus  Fever  in  Serbia  "  published  by  the  American  Red  Cross 
(Harvard  University  Press  1920.) 


808  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

"  Do  you  mind.     There's  still  Steve  and  the  Chief." 

I  smiled  over  at  her. 

"  Yes.  Steve.  He  got  back  all  right,  but  the  disease 
had  left  a  permanent  mark  on  him.  He  wanted  to  join 
the  R.A.M.C,  and,  oddly  enough,  they  sent  him  to  me 
at  '  Millbank  '  to  examine.  Of  course,  I  couldn't  pass 
him  for  active  service,  and  he  knew  it.  But  I  sent  him 
to  Sir  Frederick  Treves,  and  the  Red  Cross  found  useful 
work  for  him  in  France.  Then  he  went  back  to 
Australia,  and  I  haven't  heard  of  him  since.  But  any 
day  I  expect  him  to  blow  in  on  me,  and  if  he  does  you 
shall  certainly  meet  him.  I  have  a  very  warm  corner  in 
my  heart  for  Steve." 

Lilange  smiled  at  me. 

"  I'm  sure  I'd  like  him,  too  !  " 

"  We'll  ask  him  to  dinner,  and  I'll  have  olives  and 
salted  almonds,  and  lots  of  little  bon-bon  dishes  full  of 
candies  all  round  him,"  she  said. 

"  He's  a  very  real  person  to  me,"  she  added.  "  I 
can  picture  him ;  but  your  Chief  somehow  seems  rather 
a  shadowy  figure.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  him  again  ?  I 
suppose  not." 

*'  Oh  yes,  I  heard  of  him.  That  was  the  oddest  thing. 
It  was  about  three  years  later.  I  was  working  in  my 
office  at  Kantara  on  the  Suez  Canal  one  hot  Egyptian 
afternoon.  It  must  have  been  soon  after  our  break 
through  on  the  Gaza-Beersheba  front,  late  in  1917. 

"  Wood,  my  D.A.D.M.S.,  and  I  were  very  busy,  for  I 
had  taken  over  medical  charge  of  all  the  country  from 
Jerusalem  to  Suez,  and  it  was  an  enormous  job. 

"  We  were  arranging  to  push  new  units — Hospitals, 
Casualty  Clearing  Stations,  Field  Laboratories,  Sanitary 
Sections,  Advanced  Depots  Medical  Stores,  a  Water 
Testing  Company — into  the  recently-captured  territory. 
To  fix  up  the  details  of  all  these  things, '  files  '  were  con- 
stantly passing,  conferences  being  held,  memos,  written 
to  the  other  departments,  particularly,  'A,'  '  Q,'  and 
A.D.O.S.,  besides  letters  to  our  own  S.M.O.'s,  the  heads 


1 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THEM  ALL    309 

of  the  various  units  concerned,  and  last  and  most  im- 
portant the  D.M.S.  All  the  while,  between  times,  wires 
reporting  the  movements  of  hospital  trains,  giving  daily 
'  bed  states  '  of  our  medical  units,  announcing  the 
arrival  and  departure  of  hospital  ships  kept  coming  in, 
and  D.R.L.S.  messages  arriving.  In  short,  all  the 
activities  of  a  big  office  after  an  advance,  preparing  for 
another  *  push,'  were  in  full  swing. 

"  We  were  thoroughly  happy.  Wood  and  I.  We  liked 
the  work.  Across  the  Sweet  Water  Canal,  behind  my 
office,  a  squad  of  coolies  from  the  Egyptian  Labour 
Corps  were  unloading  '  tibbin,'  singing  in  a  plaintive 
monotone  the  inevitable  '  Kam  LiV  O  Kam  Yoem  '  as 
they  hauled  in  unison.  My  front  windows  looked  on 
to  the  Suez  Canal  itself,  and  on  the  far  side,  when  I 
looked  up,  I  could  see  the  hospital  barge  '  Indiana,' 
with  Capt.  Mathison  in  charge,  taking  on  its  bi-weekly 
cargo  of  sick  and  wounded  British  troops  for  our  big 
base  hospital  at  Port  Said. 

"  It  was  very  hot,  and  Wood  and  I  were  working  in 
our  shirt  sleeves,  tunics  hung  on  our  chairs  behind, 
Sam  Browne's  lying  in  front  of  us  on  our  tables.  Pre- 
sently Wood's  telephone  rang,  and  I  looked  up  to  hear 
what  the  message  was  about." 

"  '  Yes.  That  you  Mac.  Oh,  yes.'  There  was  a 
pause  while  he  listened  to  the  other  end  speaking,  and 
then  : — '  Righto.  Send  them  along,'  and  he  hung  up 
the  receiver. 

"  '  Staff  Captain  *  A  '  says  three  Medical  Officers  have 
arrived  to  report,'  he  said. 

"  '  Good.  We  want  all  we  can  get.  Wonder  when 
G.H.Q.  will  raise  that  extra  hundred  we  need,'  I 
answered,  before  resuming  the  perusal  of  the  '  Progress 
Report  '  from  the  C.0.0.  on  the  equipment  of  our  ad- 
vanced C.C.S.'s  on  the  Jerusalem-Jaffa  front.  After  an 
interval  our  sergeant  came  in. 

"  '  Three  officers  to  report,  sir.' 

"  The  D. A. D.M.S.  turned  up  the  morning  file  on  his 


810  MY  BALKAN  LOG 

table,  produced  a  *  Diosnioany  '  wire,  and  placed  it  in 
front  of  me. 

"'  '  Here  they  are,  sir,'  he  said.  '  One  O.C.  Sanitary 
Section,  a  Captain,  one  Bacteriologist,  also  a  Captain, 
and  one  Lieutenant,  a  Surgeon.  The  Sanitary  Section 
man  is  for  '  105  '  isn't  he  ?'  he  asked.  I  nodded.  '  We 
want  a  bacteriologist  for  the  Field  Laboratory  at  Gaza 
to  replace  Jepson  whom  we're  transferring  to  Ismailia,' 
he  continued. 

"  '  Yes.     That's  right,'  I  said. 

"'Where  do  you  want  to  post  the  Surgeon?'  he 
queried. 

"  '  They're  short  at  the  44th  Stationary.  Let's  send 
him  there,'  I  answered.  '  Colonel  Mackenzie  is  getting 
rather  peevish  because  we  haven't  filled  him  up  before.' 

"  Wood  smiled,  and  turned  to  the  waiting  N.C.O. 

"  '  Right,  Rowlands.  You  can  bring  them  in,  one  by 
one.'  Automatically  we  reached  back  for  our  thin 
tunics  of  Egyptian  gabardine,  and  picked  up  our  Sam 
Browne's  from  in  front  of  us.  Receiving  new  officers 
into  one's  Command  cannot  be  done  in  shirt  sleeves, 
even  on  a  sweltering  Egyptian  afternoon. 

"  The  two  Captains  came  in,  one  after  the  other,  were 
informed  of  their  destinations,  given  '  movement 
orders  '  for  their  journey,  and  asked  to  wait  in  the 
ante-room  for  typed  copies  of  their  instructions.  They 
saluted  and  retired. 

"  '  Now  the  other  officer,'  said  Wood,  '  and  then  we 
can  get  back  to  work.     Lord  !     It  is  hot.' 

"  A  tall  thin  man,  with  a  slight  stoop,  wearing  the 
South  African  ribbons  and  that  of  the  Order  of  St.  Sava 
entered.  We  looked  at  one  another.  He  was  the  last 
person  in  the  world  I  had  ever  expected  to  see  again, 
and  suddenly  the  years  between  seemed  to  roll  back. 
Instead  of  the  dazzling  sunshine  of  Egypt  outside,  the 
sand,  the  blue  waters  of  the  Canal,  the  chanting  coolies, 
the  neat  little  boat  carrying  its  load  of  carefully-tended 
sick  and  wounded  to  the  beautifully  clean  hospital  at 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THEM  ALL         311 

Port  Said,  I  saw  the  mud  and  rain  of  Uskub,  the 
horrible  pest-house  hospital,  heard  the  song  of  the  dead 
played  by  a  Serbian  band  in  the  distance,  felt  that  if  I 
turned  my  head  and  went  outside  I  should  smell  the 
sickly  odour  of  dead  and  dying  Austrians  in  the  straw. 
I  found  that  in  spite  of  my  tight  tunic  and  the  swelter- 
ing heat  I  was  shivering ;  for  somehow  at  the  sight  of 
him  the  whole  incredible  nightmare  of  it  all  came  back 
to  me,  as  vividly  as  if  it  had  happened  on  the  previous 
day." 

"  It  wasn't  the  Chief !  "  said  Lilange  incredulously. 

*'  It  was,"  I  answered. 


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